


The Heat of the Moment

by tohidefrommyfriends



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-18 21:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 69,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tohidefrommyfriends/pseuds/tohidefrommyfriends
Summary: It all started when Helga had a bad day, and a neat little idea popped into her head. But what happens when she finds out that that neat little idea doesn't only belong to her?





	1. The Beginning

"Hey, Arnold, the guys are heading over to Slausen's," Gerald said, walking over to his best friend, who was grabbing a drink at the water fountain. "Wanna come?"

Arnold straightened up and adjusted one of the straps of his backpack. "I'll meet you guys there; I forgot to grab a book from my locker. Save me a seat?"

Gerald grinned. "You got it." He held his fist up to Arnold, who returned the boy's smile and commenced their handshake.

When Gerald returned to the group of fourth graders, (Harold, Sid, Stinky, and a happy-to-have-been-invited Eugene), Arnold turned away, walking further into the school to his locker. He was feeling particularly happy that day: he'd gotten an A on his math test, his team won the kickball game at recess thanks to his game-changing kick right at the end, and the lunch lady gave him an extra tapioca pudding at lunch. He had a soft smile on his face, and he allowed himself to walk especially slow so that he could really get lost in his thoughts and daydreams while also not tripping or knocking anything over. Everything was going just fine, when he was suddenly seized by . . . someone, and was roughly dragged into the janitor's closet that was a few feet away. 

The whole thing happened so fast that he didn't see his captor's face before he was plunged into darkness, but he didn't have to worry about that for long, because as sudden as the darkness engulfed him it was gone and he blinked at the sudden light.

And then the voice of the most unlikely, (or, let's face it, probably the _most_ likely), person said in a half-amused, half-mocking voice,

"Hey, Football Head."

Arnold couldn't help it; no matter how many years he'd known Helga, for her to suddenly wrench him away from any witnesses was still a little unnerving. His eyes widened and his throat felt dry. _Is . . . is she going to pound me? I don't remember doing anything bad to her today, and there wasn't really a change in how she treated me. Except, maybe there were less spitballs than usual._ The boy gulped. "Uh . . . hi, Helga."

Without another word, Arnold felt his back suddenly crash against the closed janitor's door, only a pair of hands protecting him from getting the wind knocked out of him. He stared wide-eyed at Helga, too frozen to try to escape her tight hold on him; her eyes were only in his line of sight for a few seconds before her lips were suddenly feverishly moving against his own. His eyes widened even further, and, without thinking, his arms flew up to the pig-tailed girl's shoulders; his intention was to push her away, but she clung tight to him and was refusing to let him go. He hadn't felt that panicked since FTi, (a forbidden subject, and one he unfortunately found himself mulling over, often in his dreams), and he was just as helpless. There was something so suffocating about Helga's lips; they were aggressive, passionate, intense, and . . . soft and warm and . . . loving. They tasted like the Mr. Fudgy bar she had at lunch. The last time she had kissed him, he hadn't gotten the time to really think during it, and absorb the details of the kiss; on that roof, he had been _way_ too shocked that it was _Helga_, of all people, but in that janitor's closet, being kissed by _Helga _. . . wasn't really all _that_ surprising. Of course, he hadn't _expected_ it, but he would've been more stunned if it were Rhonda, or Nadine, or anybody else.

Just as sudden as she had latched to him, she suddenly let him go. Well, her _lips_ did; she kept her strong, pale arms wrapped tightly around his torso, and, for a few seconds, the two children stared at each other, panting slightly. The young girl's blue eyes seemed surprised at her own actions, and that made Arnold more confused than anything else.

Helga drew a deep breath and stepped away, releasing her hold on the boy, who was still in shock and let his arms simply fall limply by his sides. Helga clasped her hands behind her back, and she cleared her throat, feeling nervous and ashamed as what she did actually settling in her mind. "Um. Sorry about that."

Arnold tried to take control of his breathing, and his cheeks were slightly redder than they were when he was initially dragged in the closet. He was hardly aware that he was speaking as he stuttered out, "Uh . . . it's okay." Later, when Arnold was more conscious of what had just happened to him, he was flabbergasted at his reaction to Helga's sheepish apology. Because was it _really_ okay? Why would he think, in a million years, that Helga kissing him was okay? Awkward apology or not, she was still Helga! But, for reasons that Arnold currently wasn't concerned with, his immediate reaction was not to analyze Helga's personality and behavior in regards to her most recent actions. He was more confused at the abruptness than anything else. "What was that . . . _for_ exactly?"

Helga felt a blush blossom lovely across her cheeks as she said, "Uh . . . heat of the moment?" Her voice seemed desperate, as if she were pleading with him to just let it go. She hadn't even really thought about her actions; she just found herself in a janitor's closet, and she'd happened to have listened to Arnold's conversation with his friend.

Okay, so maybe she planned the whole thing out in excruciating detail, (well, at least the kiss part), but could she be blamed? She'd had a rough day: she woke up late to a virtually empty house, (as her father apparently had to go on a 'business trip,' whatever the heck that meant, leaving Miriam and Helga alone in the house together, which was hardly ever a good thing), she'd been tardy _again _for school, (and had received a stern talking to from Wartz that she mostly blocked out), she had no lunch and the pockets of her jumper were void of any spare George Washington's, and then, of course, Arnold just had to go and flirt, flirt, _flirt_ away with Lila under her very nose, and she just . . . lost control. All control.

_A brief flashback . . ._

_"Would you like to go to the pier with me, Helga?" a sweet, small, almost squeaky voice asked. Phoebe pushed her glasses up on her nose as she looked up at Helga with a smile. "You've seemed distant today and I'm certain that some time spent -"_

_"Crimeny, Pheebs, could I have one minute alone to myself?" Helga immediately retorted in an angry voice. Phoebe shrunk away from her, taken aback by her sudden hostility, but Helga was too far gone to really pay attention to the toll her anger was taking on her best friend. "I'm surrounded by morons all day," Helga stuck out a leg and tripped an unsuspecting third grader that she didn't recognize, (though she could not find it in herself to care) as she spoke, "And I'm forced to interact with them 'peacefully' and 'nonviolently,'" Helga put air-quotations up to these words, "And now that I have the rest of the day to myself, I'm not going to willingly jump into a situation that involves being around other people! I'd like to just return home to my house by myself, _alone_! Is that too much to ask?" Helga took a deep, heaving breath, glaring daggers at some random poster tacked to the wall ahead of her, just over Phoebe's shoulder. Her fists were held clenched by her side and she was fuming._

_Phoebe understood perfectly how terrible a day Helga had: she'd shared half her lunch with her when she noticed that Helga didn't even have anything to trade with Harold, but she knew better than to comment. (Helga hadn't initiated the conversation, and she knew better than to verbalize her observations.) Still, an angry Helga was a scary Helga; she was much different than her normal sarcastic and border-line rude self. She was much more venomous and lethal. Phoebe managed a small, shaky, nervous smile and said,_

_"Of course not, Helga. If you need some time alone, then you should take it." Phoebe pushed her glasses further on her nose again. "Would you like me to walk you home?"_

_Helga sighed, her initial anger finally subsiding a bit and guilt overtaking her. "No, that's alright, Phoebe. I'd really just like to be on my own."_

_Phoebe smiled at Helga's now calm exterior, and held an approving thumb up. "Alright, Helga. I'll call you tonight."_

_Helga shot her a soft smile, although it appeared forced. "Sure thing, Pheebs." Helga watched as Phoebe turned the corner of the hallway before she leaned heavily against a locker, glancing around her. When she saw that she was alone, she slipped into the janitor's closet, (her so-called office), and quickly closed the door behind her. She pulled the cord to turn on the light, and reached into her jumper to snag her locket._

_"Oh, Arnold," she cooed, her index finger tracing his cheek, "After all I've endured today, after all the hardships I have faced, being able to see your knee-shaking boyish smile has more than made up for it. So sweet, so charming, so kind towards all who suffer! Oh, how I long for you to see through this mask I must put on every day of my life; how I long to hear you say the fateful three words I have always prayed to hear, ever since I first laid eyes on you: I love you. Oh, how I love you, Arnold; I love you, I _ _love_ _ you! I wish I could just gather you to myself, and shower you with my adoration, ravish you with my kisses, and engulf you in my embrace . . ."_

_At this point, Helga was used to having to punch Brainy's lights out, but he was nowhere to be found. It confused Helga, but she continued nonetheless. "But alas, I have not the courage, nor the fortitude to do so." She sighed, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders, and she moved towards the door. "There's nothing left for me but to go home. At least there, I can sing my praise to a football head that will quietly and un-mockingly listen . . ."_

_". . . I'll meet you guys there; I forgot to grab a book from my locker. Save me a seat?"_

_Helga's ears perked up at the sweet, sweet voice. She let out a lovesick sigh as she leaned her back against the door, whispering sweetly, "Arnold." She listened as his footsteps grew nearer and nearer, when suddenly a peculiar little idea popped into her head . . ._

_End flashback._

"But," Arnold said, in response to Helga's feeble reply of her kiss being 'the heat of the moment.' His eyebrows furrowed. "You're the one who pulled me in here -"

"Look, Football Head, it was the heat of the moment, okay?" Helga said irritably, folding her arms over her chest. "It was an . . . accident."

Arnold huffed and folded his arms. "Look, Helga, you can't keep kissing me with no explanation. If you're _going_ to kiss me, at least tell me why." As soon as the words left his mouth he blinked. _Huh. I, uh . . . didn't mean to say that._

Helga's jaw dropped and her arms fell slack at her sides. _He . . . he can't possibly mean . . . No, of course not, he can't; that's . . . that's ridiculous! Preposterous! Come off it, Helga . . . Always getting your hopes up. _"I'd rather _not_ have this conversation right now, Arnoldo. I'd really appreciate it if you'd just recognize that I have a tendency to get caught up in the heat of the moment, and do things that I regret immediately afterwards!"

Arnold felt his heart ache for a moment. _But _she_ was the one to do it. Why would she regret it?_ He shook his head as soon as the thought formed in his mind. _What am I thinking, of course she regrets it; she hates me! I should regret it, too!_ Another, more annoying and mocking voice rang in his head, practically singing, _Then why don't you?_ He inwardly huffed at that, but refused to give that stupid, stupid voice the light of day. Part of Arnold wanted to believe Helga; heck, that part of him was pretty darn huge! But he knew deep down, (well, perhaps not so deep down), that she was telling the truth on the FTi roof, and that this so-called kiss that was 'unprovoked' was completely real. _Pssh, heat of the moment! Yeah, right! Heat of the moment is when you're having an argument, and then you just . . . get carried away with the yelling and then . . . Whatever, I don't know, I'm only nine! But she _deliberately_ pulled me into a closet. That wasn't heat of the moment; that took planning! She had to have known where I was, and when I was going to walk by, and if I was going to be alone! This wasn't some reckless idea; this was on purpose!_

With that, Arnold frowned and folded his arms. "No. I don't believe you."

Helga shook her head and began to move past him. _Oh, crimeny, don't push this, Arnold, please. I don't know if I can handle that right now. _"Yeah, well, that's your own fault, Football Head, now move out of my way."

Arnold took a step forward, attempting to block her exit, but she just elbowed him in the ribs, (way more delicately than she would Harold or Sid or Stinky or pretty much anybody other than him), and, while he winced back at the sudden sharp pain and was momentarily distracted, she pushed him to the side and hurried out as fast, and yet as casual, as she could.

"Helga, wait!" Arnold called, recovering and trying to follow after her.

At first, the young girl didn't answer.

But then, Arnold ran right up behind her and said, "Helga, I don't believe you and I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me the truth."

Still, Helga stayed silent.

Arnold folded his arms and matched her pace, looking up at her with a frustrated frown and a stubborn look about his eyes. "I'm not leaving you alone. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm supposed to meet the guys to get ice cream before we play a little baseball, but I'm going to blow them off, and follow you wherever you're going, so that you'll have enough time to tell me the truth. I know you probably think I'm bluffing, but you have to know me well enough by now to know that I'm not going to back down from this unless something stops me. So, I think the only logical solution is to just tell me the -"

Helga suddenly stopped and whirled around to face him. Her cheeks were tinted red in her anger, and her hands were held in fists at her side. Arnold shrunk a bit at the sight of her. "Football Head, if you know what's good for you, you'll leave me alone. I'm not even going to give you the name of my fists; you already know them, and I'm too angry to sugar-coat the inevitable _pounding_ you're going to get if you pursue this any further."

Arnold couldn't help but swallow at that threat. It seemed really real. If she loved him, she wouldn't _really_ hurt him, right? _Right?_ But she sounded like she was on the brink of an all-out violent melt-down, and he was getting . . . not quite afraid, but apprehensive. Not that he'd admit that to her, but he figured that, if he didn't want to hobble home with a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder, he should just stop bugging her and let her alone. He sighed and looked down, away from her venomous gaze. "Okay, Helga. If that's really, really what you want, I'll leave you alone. But I could at least walk you home -"

Helga didn't even have it in her to swoon at his offer. She shook her head wildly. "No, that's quite alright, Football Head, I think I can manage."

Arnold took a step towards her, a finger raised in protest. "But -"

"_Arnold!_" Helga said in a voice so loud it made Arnold cringe. "What part of 'leave me alone' escapes your idiotic little Football-Headed brain? Now, _I'm_ going home, and _you're_ going wherever it is that you're going, and you're not going to breath a _word_ of this to anyone, not even Tall Hair Boy." Helga poked a long, slender finger into his chest sharply. "Got it?"

Arnold leaned away from her, but stood his ground. "Yeah, sure. I got it."

Helga straightened up and folded her arms in front of her chest, turning away. "Good. Glad to know we're on the same page, Football Head." With that, she stomped off down the hall, leaving a flustered, relatively-desperate, slightly-angry Arnold in her wake.


	2. The Continuation

Helga pushed Arnold and Gerald aside, taking the last tapioca pudding and smirking mischievously at their annoyed expressions. "Whoops, were you two standing there? I must have missed you. Although that's surprising, considering the freakish shape of your head, Football Head, and the mass of hair that's taller than Mr. Simmons, Geraldo."

Before Arnold could stop himself, he folded his arms and exclaimed in a frustrated voice, "Very funny, Helga. Can I speak with you in the hallway, please?"

The pig-tailed girl blinked in surprise at this out-of-character retort. She glanced at Gerald in confusion, (despite their mutual hatred, she figured he could at least provide her with _some_ answers), but he was too busy glaring at her to respond to her inquiring gaze. Finally, Helga just shook her head, and turned back to Arnold, a scowl firmly in place. "What makes you think I'd do anything for _you_, Football Head?" _What the heck is he going on about? Meet him in the hallway? For __what__ exactly? Isn't he terrified that's I'd punch his face in?_ She huffed in her brain.

"Oh, I don't _think_ you'll follow me, I _know_ you'll follow me," Arnold said, quite boldly for a person staring down one of the biggest bully in the entire school. He picked up his tray, nodded to Gerald, and began to walk in the opposite direction, away from Helga.

Helga smirked, the joy of their bickering game pooling warmly in her stomach, (although Arnold was much, much more offensive), and she turned away from him with her tray in hand. "In your dreams, Arnoldo."

"Oh, I don't think so, Helga. If you're looking for me, I'll be in the hallway, waiting for you to show up," Arnold called over his shoulder, sounding extremely fed up and frustrated. It had been a while since Helga had managed to get him that worked up. She felt slightly proud of herself, but also a little worried. The last time he'd been so abrasive towards her was when they were paired to watch over that egg, and Arnold--her sweet, sweet Arnold--was actually _rude_ and _mean_ to her. He actually _insulted_ her. Sure, he probably didn't mean to offend her, (although that's precisely what he did), but Helga had figured that the words left him before he even realized it. Heck, she could relate to that. But he had really hurt her feelings that day, as much as she tried to play it off, and, in that cafeteria, on that particular day, she wasn't sure if she could really sit through that again.

_But still,_ the scheming and mischievous part of her mind reasoned with a smirk, _alone time with Arnold. And I managed the egg project just fine; I can manage this, too! And who knows what Head Boy actually wants this time! I don't think he'd actually invite me into the hallway just so he could insult me. Even though he's angry, he's still Arnold; I don't think he's capable of that. Great. It's settled!_

Before he turned the corner, she called to him, "_Fine_. If it means that much to you, I'll grace you with my presence. As long as it's enough to stop your stupid Football Head from whining for the rest of the day."

"I promise, it is," Arnold replied harshly. He didn't even smile. He'd won an argument with Helga; it was a first, and he should've been _proud_, but he was extremely frustrated. Ever since the incident in the janitor's closet, everything Helga did seemed to annoy him. She slammed her locker a bit too loud for his liking? He was immediately frustrated. She cackled at him for making a minor mistake at the chalk board? He was immediately frustrated. She glared at somebody else, someone that wasn't even him? He was immediately frustrated, despite the fact that she wasn't even directing her constant rage towards him. So the regular spitballs, and the fact that she seemed to thoroughly enjoy tripping him and cutting in line, made him borderline furious. All of that he kept so bottled up, and all of his feelings towards Helga exploded, like she had popped the cork out of a champagne bottle.

Arnold set his tray down on the table next to Gerald, but abruptly turned away, walking toward the door to the hallway. His hands were balled into fists at his side, gripping so tight that his fingernails were digging into his skin. His eyebrows were set, and he was already planning to do . . . something. What that something was, he wasn't entirely sure, but whatever it was, it would eventually come to him; and he knew Helga wouldn't be ready for it. Gerald had called out to him, asking where he was going, and what had gotten into him, and what the heck just happened between him and _Helga the Horrible_, but Arnold just ignored him, so dead set on what he was about to do that he didn't care about anything else around him.

Arnold pushed the door open roughly, (letting out as much anger on the inanimate object as he could), causing it to bang against the wall loudly. He glanced down the hallway, noticing that Helga was already there, her arms crossed over of her chest and a scowl on her face. She was leaning against a locker, her feet crossed in front of her, and Arnold could _see_ her anger. It was radiating off of her in waves, but _his_ anger was just as strong, so he wasn't fazed. Not much Helga threw at him fazed him anymore, in the way that it used to. He used to be patient with her, but having to sit through her taunting used to confuse him into wondering why she targeted him so rigorously. A lot of the time he just wanted to be her friend, but was stopped by her torturing him. 

But after everything--she just didn't seem as intimidating as she used to.

Helga looked up at the sound of the door. She saw Arnold standing stock still in the middle of the hallway, and he was glaring at her, but she just glared right back, despite her uneasiness in the face of his anger. _He looks . . . __actually__ angry._ Helga tried to keep her gaze relatively normal, but she was having difficulty forcing the fear from her eyes. _Oh, no . . . Oh, no, what if he brings up the closet! Or FTi! Or what if he just tells me to leave him alone once and for all and then that would be it! My love would forever remain unrequited, and I'd live out the rest of my life alone, because I could never replace Arnold! _She hushed her overactive mind, propelled off of the locker she had been leaning against, and put her hands on her hips. "_Well_, Football Head? I'm here. You're welcome. Now, what's so important that you had to interrupt -"

But Arnold didn't let Helga finish. He glanced up and down the halls briefly to make sure nobody was around, before taking a few long strides towards her and pinning her against a locker, both of his hands gripping her thin shoulders tightly. He leaned close to her face so that their noses were close to touching and his glare intensified, so that his green eyes burned hotly into her widened blue ones.

Helga gulped. _What is he doing? Oh, God, please, if he's going to kiss me... let it happen, but also __don't__ let it happen, because we're really out in the open! Let's go to a janitor's closet! Yeah, that'll work! But that's only if he . . . _She shook her head slightly to try to clear it, causing their noses to brush against each other; she tried to look away from his emerald eyes, but even the slightest glance was enough to push her into a further state of monologue. _Oh, he's so close to me . . . Oh, his emerald eyes, they burn so passionately . . . That's probably because he's angry, but still! It's powerful enough to get him to pull me this close, so I'm not complaining!_

Arnold was oddly affected by her having nuzzled their noses together, whether she intended that to happen or not, and he disrupted Helga's thoughts when he pushed forward a little more so that their noses were pressed together. His eyes were so close to Helga's surprised and slightly terrified eyes, he could probably count the flecks of pale blue in her cobalt irises, but he couldn't concentrate properly. _She's just so . . . __Why__ does she have to bug me so much? __Why__ has she gotten so much more irritating lately? Oh, I could just . . . just . . . _Arnold more-or-less consciously tightened his grip on the stunned girl in his arms and he said in a low voice, that sounded so very unlike his normal tone, "What I'm about to do is going to be completely out of anger."

Before Helga could respond, or even think properly, Arnold had pushed forward all the way, their lips colliding together almost painfully. Helga's back was pressed flush against the locker behind her, the cold metal hitting the flushed skin of the back of her neck. He moved his lips rapidly, desperately, passionately against hers, his hands gripping her shoulders so tight that Helga almost winced in pain. _Good pain_, she ultimately decided. She didn't have it in her to move either of her arms, or press Arnold's body as close to her as was physically possible, or even kiss him back; she was too shocked to respond. Even if she _could_ gather the courage and recover, she actually _couldn't_: Arnold's grip on her was too tight to allow much movement.

_Why . . . what . . . is he . . . how in the . . . where did he . . ._ Helga's thoughts weren't exactly _forming_ fully, to say the least, but there was one thought that rang clearly in her mind: _WHAT'S HAPPENING?!_

Arnold's kiss lasted a few seconds longer, before he drew back, his eyes flickering open and his grip loosening considerably. He looked into her wide, blue eyes with . . . relief? confusion? shock? satisfaction? His eyes seemed to radiate the emotion, whatever it was. Steadily, however, his initial response to his own actions disintegrated, leaving only shame and apologies behind. As if he'd been slapped in the face, his eyes suddenly flew wide open, and he took a large step away from her, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. He averted his eyes, instead staring fixedly at his shoes, and rubbed the back of his neck. It took a moment, but he finally coaxed his vocal chords into working. "Uh, yeah."

Helga didn't have the willpower, nor the faculties, to respond.

"So, uh . . . _oh, no!_" Arnold suddenly looked back up at her, regret deep in his eyes. He took a small step forward, but was careful to keep a safe and comfortable distance between them. "I'm so sorry, Helga; I shouldn't have just grabbed you like that, and I-I'm sorry, I didn't _mean_ to do that, it was . . ."

Finally, Helga's mouth began to work again and she said shakily, "The heat of the moment?"

Arnold gave her a small, grateful smile. "Yeah, the heat of the moment. I just . . . wasn't thinking."

"Because I . . . cut in line, and insulted you and Gerald and you were . . . angry?" Helga asked. She was giving him a way out, although every fiber of her deep, almost painful, love demanded she do the opposite. The two sides of her were both so stubborn that the inner argument was brutal and passionate:

_You have him right where you want him! Go for the kill! Confront him!_

_But Arnold can't _possibly_ like me like me, let alone __love__ me, and I can't deal with that kind of rejection; I mean, he just rejected me right now . . . sort of . . ._

_Oh, come on, Helga, the boy of your dreams just _ _kissed you_ _ and it was _ _boss!_ _ Now's your chance! Reel him in!_

_But he doesn't love me -_

_How do you know? That kiss was pretty heated._

_But he just said he didn't mean it; he said it was an accident!_

_So? _ _Make_ _ him mean it._

_But he doesn't love me, don't you get it?! I don't want to hear the words, 'I'm sorry, Helga, but I don't love you; that kiss was a mistake, as were all of our other kisses.' He gave me an out on the FTi rooftop _and _in the janitor's closet a couple weeks ago, and that was a dream come true; I __owe__ him this. I owe him a chance to take it all back._

Arnold's voice shook her out of her thoughts. "Yeah, I was pretty angry. That's why I just did, um. That."

There was an awkward silence that neither child knew how to fill. They could hear the ticking of the clock at the end of the hall, and the mindless chatter of the cafeteria rang loud, clear, and obnoxious.

"Wow, would you look at the time!" Helga suddenly exclaimed, looking at her wrist. She groaned in her head. _Stupid, stupid, you don't even __wear__ a watch. Oh, well, might as well roll with it; it's not like today hasn't been full of awkward, uncomfortable situations already._ "Lunch is almost over!"

"Yeah, we should get back to the, uh . . ."

"Cafeteria?"

"Right, yeah, the cafeteria. I bet Gerald's worried about me, and I know Phoebe's probably confused."

"Right."

"Yeah."

The two children turned away from each other, both blushing considerably, and tried to walk through the doors to the cafeteria at the same time.

Arnold blinked and turned to Helga, who in turn turned to look at him. He offered her a kind smile. _Good, good, keep it casual. Just pretend that that kiss didn't just happen. She'll pretend, and you'll pretend, and then it'll be like it never even existed in the first place. _"Oh, go ahead, Helga."

Helga shook her head in a rare moment of politeness. "No, that's alright, Football Head, I'll just follow behind you."

Arnold smiled a bit wider at how nice she suddenly sounded and gestured for her to move forward. "Ladies first."

The pig-tailed girl felt a smile tug at her lips. _What a chivalrous little Football Head. _She inwardly swooned, but then a mischievous smile crossed her face. _Well, if we're supposed to be back to normal now. You know, bully and bullied._ Helga's smirk widened. "Yeah, I know. That's why _you_ should go first, Football Head."

Arnold huffed, but it looked like there was a hint of a smile on his lips nevertheless. "Whatever you say, Helga." He pushed the door open, and held it out for her, (completely ignoring her demand that he not do that), and hurried away to Gerald's table. When Arnold sat down, taking a few calming breaths before he began to eat, Gerald looked up from his tray, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Man, what happened to you?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Did you and Helga get in a fight? You look like you just ran all the way to Gerald's Field."

The observation just deepened the blush on Arnold's face. He cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at Helga out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting with Phoebe, a frown on her face as she stared fixedly the tapioca pudding that should've been on his _own_ tray. Phoebe was smiling wide, resting her head on one of her palms, and she was saying something that apparently wasn't sitting right with Helga, because she glanced up at Phoebe, her frown deepening. She then quickly turned around in her chair to look at him, her face expressionless. When they made eye contact, they both blushed and turned away again.

"Uh, no, we didn't get into a fight."

"Well, then, what happened?" Gerald asked.

Arnold sat back in his chair and thought very quickly. _Helga and I should've planned an excuse . . . _why _didn't we plan an excuse? I'm terrible at thinking on the spot when it comes to things like this! I bet Helga is way better than I am! Okay, what could make both Helga and I both blush at the same time? I don't usually blush, and Helga __never__ blushes, so pretty much nothing besides what just happened could make us blush. I don't really want Gerald to know, and besides, the last time Helga and I kissed, Helga threatened me not to tell anyone, even Gerald, or she'd pound me! She's pretty unpredictable; I'm sure she would if I betrayed her trust like that. Maybe we were blushing because we saw . . . Principal Wartz's underwear! Yeah, that'll work!_ Arnold frowned. _Wait, no, that would just gross us out, not make us blush. Maybe I could just . . ._ Arnold smiled up at Gerald, but it felt forced and insincere. He tried to assure Gerald that everything was okay by saying, "Don't worry, Gerald, I took care of her - _it_. _It_. The problem. I took care of it." He forced a few chuckles to cover up the awkward slip of the tongue. He regretted his approach pretty much as soon as the words left his mouth, because the implications were numerous and embarrassing.

"Okay," Gerald said slowly. "Do you think you could maybe elaborate on that a little bit?"

Arnold swallowed and shook his head. "Uh, no, I'm good."

Gerald raised a suspicious eyebrow, but just shook his head and returned to his lunch. "Alright, man, fine. Don't tell me. Just let me know if she hurts you so I can sick Big Patty on her, or ask Fuzzy Slippers to get some dirt on her or something." A thought occurred to him and he looked back up at Arnold. "She _didn't_ hurt you, did she?"

Arnold shook his head and said quickly, "No, no, she didn't."

"Are you sure?"

The young boy frowned. "Yes, Gerald, I'm sure. If she hurt me, I'd tell you."

Gerald studied Arnold's face for a moment before shrugging. "Alright. I believe you."

Arnold let out a sigh of relief. "Good."

Arnold returned his eyes to his lunch tray, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He finally understood why Helga was so adamant about losing control of her actions whenever she suddenly grabbed him and kissed him: he didn't know where that kiss of his _own_ had come from. It was as if his frustration just built up and built up until he just couldn't take it anymore, but why did he . . . _kiss_ her? There were so many other things he could've done: scolded her, spoken sternly to her, he even could have just... yelled at her a little bit? But _no,_ he just _had_ to go and _kiss_ her... In his spare time, he never really found himself thinking about kissing Helga . . . _much_. And whenever he did, it was almost always _usually_ about what to do if _Helga_ ever kissed _him_ again; how to respond, how to defend himself, how to push her away without hurting her feelings. He'd never even considered the fact that he himself might push her up against the nearest flat surface and just plant a big one, right on her unsuspecting lips.

_Still, _Arnold thought with a small smile, _I don't really regret it. I know I probably should, but I just don't. Her lips are just . . . so soft, and they pucker slightly when she's surprised. Well, I've only ever felt that happen once, but I wonder if that happens all the time._

Someone tapped Arnold on the shoulder and he jumped, (he was jostled from his complicated and warm and slightly uneasy thoughts, and he was still feeling a little bit on edge because of earlier), and he twisted in his hard, plastic cafeteria chair to see Helga, her eyes averted and her cheeks tinted a light pink. She rocked back on her heels once, summoning up the courage before she thrust her cup of tapioca pudding into Arnold's hands.

"Peace offering," she said simply.

Arnold glanced at the cup of pudding in his hands, and then looked back up at her. He smiled. "Thanks, Helga."

The young girl turned away. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it, Football Head."

As she walked away, feeling awkward and embarrassed, Arnold couldn't help the smile widen across his face. _She's the most confusing person I've ever met. _Arnold turned back to his lunch, setting the cup of pudding on his tray, shaking his head in amusement. However, when his best friend cleared his throat, Arnold glanced up, his happiness melting away at the raised eyebrow sent in his direction, and Arnold inwardly grimaced at the fact that he had no way to explain what just happened without seriously embarrassing himself.

"Arnold, man," Gerald said, "What was _that_ all about?"

"Uh . . ." Arnold pulled at his collar and looked away, as if trying to find a good answer that wasn't _too far_ from the truth, but also wasn't _really_ the truth, either. "Helga and I--actually, no, just _Helga, _she, uh . . . I guess she wanted to apologize. For earlier, I mean." He cleared his throat. "Guess she did, and I accepted it?" _Oh, nice job, __real__ convincing,_ Arnold thought. He hardly had time to realize that that thought was spoken in Helga's voice, when Gerald responded.

"Yeah, I guess." He was disbelieving, but that was no surprise. Arnold was no good at lying, or keeping secrets of his own. Sure, he could (mostly) keep other people's secrets, though he slipped up on occasion; after all, they weren't his to tell and his morals definitely got in the way of his desire to tell the truth. But when it came to his own secrets, he was absolutely horrendous about keeping his lips shut and inconspicuous.

"Or not," Gerald added, folding his arms over his chest. "You sure you're alright, Arnold? You're acting mighty strange, you know."

Arnold blushed and looked down at his lunch. "Yeah, I'm fine, Gerald. Don't worry about me."

Gerald raised an eyebrow again, but shrugged. "Whatever, man. But my statement from before still stands: I'm here for you, buddy. For all your Helga troubles."

Arnold smiled at Gerald's attempt at helping and he nodded, but on the inside he was thinking, in a very, very loud, very, very Helga-ish voice, _Yeah, right. I'd like to see you help me with __this__ without admitting yourself to an insane asylum._


	3. The Silent Understanding

"No way! If Bruce Lee were alive, Chuck Norris would _totally_ kick his butt!"

Arnold narrowed his eyes at his best friend and folded his arms over his chest. He dodged a particularly deranged-looking Curly, (who had stolen a Mr. Fudgy Bar from Harold and seemed to have found some enjoyment in being chased), and entered the always-slightly-chaotic front hallway of P.S. 118. The two friends had decided to walk to school that day, as the weather was extremely pleasant, and they'd gotten into a semi-heated debate on the way there. "Bruce Lee was a martial arts _genius_. He'd beat anyone in hand-to-hand combat. _Even_ Chuck Norris."

Gerald shook his head. "Whatever you say, man. I still think you're crazy."

"_Look, you little twerp, I'm going to say this one more time, so you better listen up and listen up good: __**STOP**__ FOLLOWING ME!_"

Arnold and Gerald's hands clapped over their ears when they heard the high-pitched screech of the notorious bully of the fourth grade. Helga G. Pataki suddenly stomped around the corner, red in the face in anger, and being tailed by a desperate-looking third grader, name of Wilfred. Although this display was a little unexpected, it wasn't altogether surprising, as this same scrawny-looking kid had been going after Helga for the past week. He was really determined to get a date out of her, but all of the fourth graders and most of the fifth graders knew that Helga was _not_ dating material. She would tear a boyfriend a part in a week flat, no question! Despite this, Gerald and Arnold were inclined to pity the third grader, as Helga's temper often blew minor miscommunication out of proportions, and, although they didn't exactly know a lot about Wilfred, the kid seemed to be a keep-to-himself kind of guy.

Well, _mostly_.

But, of course, both Arnold and Gerald appreciated how annoying all that unwanted attention must be.

When she realized that Wilfred was still after her, Helga whipped around to face him, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "What do you want from me? You have thirty seconds to give me an answer, and it better be _good_, because if it isn't, I'll be forced to introduce you to my good friend, Ol' Betsy. _Intimately_." She pounded her right fist into her left palm, and gave him a look that would've caused anybody in their right mind to shrink away.

A group of kids had gathered around the spectacle, but Helga was too angry to notice, and Wilfred was too enamored to care. No fists were flying, so there was a hushed silence that surrounded them, and they all pitied the poor, ignorant little third grader immensely. Being on the wrong end of Helga's punches was not something the kids took lightly.

Wilfred just looked at her with widened lovesick eyes. "All I want is the chance to prove to you my love, my dearest." He fell to his knees and clasped his hands in front of himself in a prayer-like position. "Please, allow me the honor of taking you to Chez Paris tonight. Grace me with your presence, and your breath-taking beauty, your gorgeous blonde hair, your icy blue eyes . . . Even the way you express your anger so wonderfully, the passion in which you so eloquently speak -"

Helga didn't allow him the chance to continue. Instead, she reached forward and grabbed the front of his shirt with both of her hands, lifting him off his feet and dangling him in the air. The kids circling them had never seen her so angry before, which they all found to be rather strange. Wasn't she flattered that she was receiving all these compliments? She probably wouldn't get them from anybody else. Of course, it was hilarious that anybody would think that Helga was pretty in any sense of the term. In fact, Harold was already gearing up to taunt her relentlessly as soon as the crowd dispersed. As for right then, though, nobody wanted to break the tension.

"You say one more word," Helga said in a dangerously quiet voice, "And you will not be able to see _anything_ for the rest of the _month_!"

Arnold, for one, did not find this amusing at all. He could tell that Gerald was having the time of his life; going off of the almost-maniacal smirk on his face, he must've been having a field day. The same could be said for the other kids from his class. But Arnold? Arnold was worried for Wilfred's safety. Helga had always threatened kids before, but it was very rare that she actually _hit_ someone. Sure, it happened, (she wasn't all empty threats), but it wasn't exactly a common occurrence. But now? He knew she was just asking for an excuse to pound the kid into next week.

But that wasn't it. Not entirely. There was a slight burning in his chest. _Why can't Wilfred just leave her alone? She obviously doesn't care about him that way. That's practically all she's said this whole time._ When he realized what he was thinking, he furled his eyebrows. _Not that I should care, you know, __that much__, or anything like that, but my point is is that it must be annoying. And she's my friend and she doesn't deserve to be tormented like this. Maybe I should step in and help._

Just as Arnold was about to intervene, something happened. It made the entire group of kids gasp, some took a step back to avoid being hit in the inevitable crossfire, and some even scrunched up their noses in disgust.

Wilfred had leaned down and pressed his lips to Helga's knuckles in a small, delicate kiss. And then he smiled at her.

Arnold was pretty sure his heart stopped.

Helga recoiled, her face showing her utmost disgust at what had just happened. She dropped the kid to the floor unceremoniously and took a massive step away from him, as if he was covered in toxic waste. She furiously wiped her hand on her jumper, shuddering as the unwelcomed sensation of Wilfred's lips still lingered with her. When she was satisfied that his germs were off of her, (as much as they could be without soap and water and bleach), she turned back to him with the darkest scowl she could muster. "Get this through that thick, idiotic skull of yours: _I don't like you_. In fact, I hate you, more than you will ever know. And your advances aren't helping your case, either, _bucko_. They're actually making me hate you even _more_, and to be honest, I didn't think that was remotely _possible_." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and balling her fists again. "I don't want to get into a fight today because I can't afford any more detentions, so I'm giving you three seconds to get out of my sight before I throw all caution to the wind and drag you out of the school zone and pound you so hard, the hospital will think you were pushed in front of a _bus_." With her eyes still closed, she counted: "One. Two - _AHHH_!"

Helga's eyes flew open when she felt Wilfred's arms wrap around her in a loving embrace. He rested his head against her stomach, (he was the shortest boy in third grade, and Helga was one of the tallest kids in the fourth grade), and snuggled against her. It took a few seconds, as Helga was in shock that he would be so bold, but she gathered as much strength as she could and shoved him as hard as her muscles allowed. "_Get off of_ -"

"Wilfred, she told you to leave her alone."

This was the final straw; the crowd was incapable of staying silent any longer, not when they saw Arnold wearing a deep frown, with his eyebrows quirked together in frustration. A collective gasp rushed through the audience at the unexpected turn of events, and whispers could be heard throughout the people as they began gossiping amongst each other. Although most of the words were jumbled together, the sentences that _could_ be detected followed along the same lines as: "Why the heck is _Arnold_ defending _Helga_?"

Gerald whipped to his best friend and whispered harshly, "Arnold, man, what the heck are you doing?"

Arnold, however, wasn't paying attention to Gerald, or anybody else for that matter. His eyes were narrowed and he bore an uncharacteristic scowl. All eyes were glued to him as he took a few steps forward and stood beside the flabbergasted pig-tailed girl. She didn't hide her shock: her mouth was hanging open, her limbs fell limp, and she tried to communicate with Arnold with her eyes, but the football-headed boy was too busy glaring at the third grader that had landed, (quite painfully), on the floor.

Wilfred looked back in confusion. He'd never personally asked Arnold for advice, but Wilfred knew that the fourth grader was well-known for being helpful, patient, and kind to everybody around him. So why did he seem so angry with him? All Wilfred was trying to do was court the woman he loved. The third grader scrambled to his feet and said, "But, Arnold, Helga is special. I know she loves me, too, she just needs me to -"

"Helga," Arnold interrupted, suddenly turning to the girl beside him, "Do you love him?"

The poor girl was nearly at a loss for words. _Arnold's helping me . . . Sure it's not exactly __unheard__ of, but for _this_? I never would've expected this! Oh, Arnold, my love . . ._ Helga shook her head quickly, both to clear it, and to emphasize her very solid, very definitive answer. "No, of course not!"

Helga was _sure_ that there was something of relief that came to Arnold's eyes, but it was gone just as soon as it had come. She later chalked it up to wishful thinking. "You see, Wilfred? She doesn't love you. She doesn't want to date you. She wants you to leave her alone, and I think she's made that clear from the beginning."

"But," Wilfred said desperately, "but, Arnold -"

"You got to hug her _and_ kiss her hand today," Arnold interrupted again, his voice low and bitter. "I think that's more than you could've expected." He folded his arms in front of his chest. "I don't want to see you anywhere near her today, or tomorrow, or any day after that."

Wilfred's eyes widened in surprise and sadness. "But I love -"

"You love her, I get it," Arnold said hurriedly. "We all get it. But, again, she doesn't love you."

Wilfred opened his mouth to retort, but Arnold predicted this and said simply,

"Have a nice day, Wilfred."

The entire hallway went silent at how chilled Arnold's voice sounded. It'd been awhile since they'd heard him so angry. Actually, come to think of it, had they _ever_ heard him this angry before? He almost seemed like he was . . . _protecting_ Helga. But why? Sure, Arnold was a nice guy, and Wilfred's advances were bordering harassment, but Helga was able to hold her own. It didn't seem like she particularly _needed_ his help, although his interference did seem to do the trick, as Wilfred blinked at Arnold's firm response and trudged away. There were tears in his eyes as he broke through the circle of his peers and hurried down the hall.

Arnold felt guilty for having made the poor, lovesick boy cry, but he wouldn't say he regretted his actions. His attempts at freeing Helga from the unwanted attention had worked, despite the rather unorthodox approach. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his irritation, as his heart had been beating harshly in his chest. When his eyes opened, he was met with the gawking faces of the crowd, and only _then_ did he realize: he was standing in the circle of students, having stood up for his bully in a fairly aggressive manner, and he had been exceedingly rude to a weak-looking third grader who just wanted someone to love him. Arnold looked around at all the shocked and confused faces and gulped. He didn't want to look at Helga; he figured she would either pound him, shout at him, trip him, or psychologically torture him for weeks for having interrupted her in her rage. After a few seconds, Arnold figured he couldn't procrastinate anymore, and took a deep breath, slowly turning to look at Helga.

She was at a loss for words. She had no idea how to respond to what had just happened. _I'm not . . . dreaming or hallucinating, am I? I mean, that just happened, didn't it? Arnold, mild-mannered, sweet, calm, placid Arnold essentially just threatened a third grader for constantly coming on to me. Well, not really threatened, but . . . yeah, I'm going to go ahead and say threatened, because Arnold is the scariest person when he's angry._ The whole situation hadn't exactly resonated inside of her yet; she was still in shock, so she found herself unable to truly swoon and inwardly monologue about what had just happened.

"Um, sorry, Helga." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

"Uh, Football Head?" Helga asked, finally finding her voice. Arnold looked up at her words. "What was that?"

"What was what?" he asked, feigning ignorance. When he saw an impatient look come into Helga's eyes, he said, "Oh, you mean, uh. What just happened. Yeah, I was just, um." Arnold paused. _What __was__ I doing? She seemed like she could handle things pretty well, but he just -- _A bitter look came to his face. "He just wouldn't -"

Helga could sense that whatever was about to come out of Arnold's mouth would embarrass not only _him_, but also _her_, so she interrupted him by yelling at all the onlooking students, "Clear out, you great, big bunch of geeks; nothing to see here!" When nobody responded, she pounded her right fist into her left palm again and growled. This had a reaction, and everybody, (although some more reluctantly than others), dispersed in several directions, words of gossip still flowing freely from their mouths. When it looked like they were virtually alone, Helga turned back to Arnold, folded her arms, and said, "Continue, Football Head."

"Right, uh, well, he -"

"Man, Arnold, what was that?" Gerald said suddenly, clapping a hand on a flustered Arnold's shoulder. "I haven't seen you that worked up since Lila -"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Helga interrupted in exasperation, her arms flying up in the air. "Football Head and I are _trying_ to have a private conversation here! Do you think you could maybe _get lost?_"

Gerald folded his arms in front of his chest and looked steadily at her. "Whatever, Pataki, just thank my man Arnold for saving your skin and then maybe you can find some other sucker -"

"Oh, real _funny_, Geraldo -"

"I'm serious. You really have 'ol Wilfred wrapped around your finger. Maybe you _should_ give him a chance -"

As Gerald and Helga were bickering, the sight of Wilfred's lips on Helga's knuckles, and the image of Wilfred's arms wrapped around Helga's torso flashed before Arnold's eyes and his frustration grew inside of him again. Gerald's suggestion, however, was what pushed him over the edge. Arnold didn't even think about why he was so worked up, he just muttered, "_That's. __**It**_," in a very quiet, angry voice, and grabbed Helga's wrist, pulling her in the direction of the first probably-empty room he could see: the janitor's closet.

Helga glanced down at the sudden contact in confusion, but then quickly retracted her hand away. "Hey! What do you think you're doing, Football Head?"

Arnold just looked at her with a mixture of irritation, determination, and strangely... possessiveness? Helga blinked slowly at his intense gaze, but before she could really process what was going on, Arnold took hold of her again, and was leading her confused and stupefied feet into the janitor's closet. He pulled her inside, closed the door behind him, and pulled the cord to turn the light on.

Helga's eyes were wide, confused, and slightly scared as she watched his angered and rash movements. He seemed genuinely disturbed by whatever had happened in the hallways between her and Wilfred, and she had no idea how to respond. Arnold began to pace slightly, a finger to his lips and his head tilted downwards slightly. He didn't look at her.

"Uh, Football Head -" Helga began cautiously.

At Helga's voice, Arnold's attention snapped upwards, and a gleam came to his eyes as he took in her uneasy gaze. In two steps, he had completely invaded her personal space, reaching up to grip her shoulders tightly, and rested his forehead a bit roughly against hers. He glared at her, his lips turned into a frown, and his grip on her tightened.

Helga gulped. The entire situation felt eerily similar to another she had experienced, and that was when Arnold had kissed her in the hallway to relieve his 'anger,' as she had allowed him to claim. _Dare I think . . . Dare I hope . . ._ Helga thought shakily. "A-Arnold?" she asked, hoping he'd snap out of it and either kiss her or let her go. Either way, she needed this tension to be softened; it was driving her absolutely _nuts!_

With a sudden burst of passion, Arnold rushed forward and pinned her against the closet door, his forehead remaining pressed against hers. His eyes softened considerably, but there was still a burning in his gaze. "I'm apologizing in advance for what I'm about to do, but I don't think I can stop myself. I'm going to kiss you, if that's okay." Arnold hesitated for a moment, and when Helga didn't attempt to wiggle from his grasp, he lifted up on his toes and pushed his lips against hers.

Although Helga was somewhat expecting it, she was shocked nonetheless to feel his soft lips moving against hers. As before, his kiss was desperate and passionate, as if he were seeking some sort of answer that he just couldn't reach. Helga wasn't frozen for long, and Arnold wasn't as aggressive as he had been the first time he had kissed her, so she managed to lift her arms and wrap them around Arnold's neck, pulling them closer together. A part of Helga was hesitant; if she reacted too strongly, she might scare him off, but he sure didn't seem shy to her. To her surprise, Arnold responded to Helga's reciprocation by moving his hands from her shoulders to conform to the shape of her body; his arms wrapped around her waist, in a passionate and yet still gentle way, encompassing her in his warm embrace. Their lips moved against each other's wonderfully; it was a sensation that neither fourth grader had ever felt before and they were so giddy they could hardly contain it.

Helga was squealing on the inside, but there was no way she could form any coherent thought. Arnold was in a similar state.

The two fourth graders let out a sigh of content through their noses at the same time, and at the mutual act their eyes flickered open. Helga pulled back slightly, removing her lips from his with a soft smacking noise, to just gaze at his half-lidded expression and she felt a giggle escape her. _Arnold just kissed me! Willingly, my beloved pressed his beautiful, soft lips against my own and it was wonderful and I only hope that this moment lasts forever and that he never lets me go!_ She let out a loving sigh as she continued to smile softly at him.

At Helga's giggle, Arnold's smile grew. _Oh, Helga . . . she has a great laugh. And __man__ is she a good kisser! And she's so beautiful, and so sweet, when she wants to be, like right now . . . Look at how pretty and kind and gentle she looks . . . But she's also so . . . so _exciting_, and passionate; I don't think I'll forget her kisses for as long as I live! Yeah, I think I could get used to this . . ._

"_Arnold_," Helga cooed softly, tenderly pressing her forehead against his.

"Yes, Helga?" Arnold responded in a lovesick voice, just above a whisper.

"Oh, Arnold, I -"

A pound on the door interrupted Helga, and the two fourth graders heard a voice call, "Arnold, man, you still alive in there? The bell just rang and I told Mr. Simmons I was gonna go find you." He pounded on the door again.

Arnold and Helga blinked and looked back at each other, the haze of love having dissipated. They jumped a part, blushing royally, and nervously adjusted their clothing. "Um -" Arnold cleared his throat in embarrassment when his voice cracked, but managed to continued. "Uh, yeah, Gerald, I'm fine. We'll be out in a second, alright?"

Gerald hesitated, but his voice sounded like a shrug as he said, "Alright, man. Hurry back."

"Uh, sure thing, Gerald!" Arnold ran a hand down his flushed face and he put a hand on his hip. After a few moments thought, he looked up at Helga. She was blushing quite a bit, and she had her hands clasped behind her, her legs crossed in front of her, and she looked extremely nervous. When he _wasn't_ stuck in the warm bubble he had just recently discovered when he was in the intimate company of Helga, he was still scared of the fact that he thought she was pretty, but he was relaxing into that state of mind quite easily. "Um, so."

"That was --" Helga continued slowly.

"Surprising --"

"Yeah, it was pretty unexpected --"

"Uh, heat of the moment?" Arnold asked, with hope just dripping from his voice.

"Yeah, sure, definitely," Helga said hurriedly. "I mean, for right now, I guess. Considering we have to be in class as of this second." _Oh, who am I kidding. I'm never going to be able to muster the courage to speak of this wonderful moment again. And Arnold looks as if he's going to collapse in on himself from nerves, so I know __he's__ going to want to pretend it never happened. _Helga sighed.

"Yeah," Arnold said agreed softly. "For right now." He caught her eye, and the two children nodded, a silent understanding grew between them. Neither of them knew how to put their agreement in words, but there was a connection that had just formed. Not Helga nor Arnold could pretend that the heated kiss never happened. It was all-too-real, and there was too much emotion.

They were bound together in this secret. They were equally guilty, but neither of them really cared.


	4. The Polite Request

"And now, class, it's time to delve into the wonderful world of Ancient Greece; where Athenians were writing poetry and Spartans were training to be warriors! I have a very special lesson planned for you guys today!"

The entire class, (save Lila and Phoebe, but very much including Helga), groaned. Harold even called out in a loud whiny voice, "Oh, I _hate_ Greece! We're not going to have to wear togas, are we?"

"No, Harold, we're not going to wear togas," Mr. Simmons answered with a calm smile. He was a very patient man. "Now, have any of you children heard of the epic poem, the_ Odyssey_?" Although Phoebe's hand shot up like bullet, Mr. Simmons turned to a certain little pig-tailed girl and said, "What about you, Helga?" Mr. Simmons knew that Helga was a near genius when it came to literature, and he was aware that she was really very fond of poetry in general, so there was no doubt in his mind that Helga knew at least a little bit about the famous epic poem by Homer. Besides, she very rarely contributed in class, and he wanted to promote classroom participation, especially in children hesitant to partake.

Helga's eyes widened at having been addressed so suddenly in class, (she always thought that her and Mr. Simmons had an unspoken agreement that he was never supposed to call on her for any reason whatsoever), and she sat up straight. A few students snickered, because really? Why would _Helga the Horrible_ know anything about Greek literature? It was ridiculous to even consider. Helga, on the other hand, was very knowledgeable when it came to ancient literature; she just never really let anyone know that she knew anything. Knowing about literature seemed pretty weak, and Helga was _not_ weak.

But her classmates were mocking her. And calling her stupid. And Helga just couldn't let them get away with that. Instead, she just smirked at Mr. Simmons, (although it came across as a smile more than anything), and said, "Yeah, Mr. Simmons. I've heard of the _Odyssey_. It's about a guy named Odysseus who's traveled far away from home to fight the Trojans. 'Oh, _Trojans_?' you might ask? Yes, you chuckleheads, the _Odyssey_ was loosely based off a true story, with a few added monsters and beasts, but the Trojan Horse part really happened. (But that happened in the _Iliad_, anyway, which is a whole other story.) Anyway, he faces all these road blocks because Poseidon wants to kill him, and he kind of has to cross an ocean to get home. Oh, and if any of you geek baits were confused, Poseidon is the god of the sea. Odysseus meets a cyclops, a siren, and all these other creatures, and loses all of his crew that he traveled out with, but Athena really wants to keep him alive, so he survives everything. Anyway, back at home, his wife lives kind of a sad life because her husband is gone and she loves him and stuff, and then right before her son, (oh, yeah, Odysseus and Penelope have a son together, forgot to mention that earlier; it's quite an epic poem, isn't it, Mr. Simmons?). So, right before her son turns eighteen, all these suitors come, because honestly? Who wouldn't want to be in charge? The head-honcho's gone; at the time, leaving a woman in charge pretty much meant no one was in charge, so who wouldn't want to be the boss of an entire group of people?" Helga folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I rule the fourth grade, and I promise you, it's a sweet life. So, Penelope is trying to fight off all these suitors because they're rude, and they trash the place, and say that if she doesn't pick one of them, they'll _make_ her pick. Pfft. Yeah, right. Penelope is one of the smartest characters, no _way_ she'd let that happen. Oh, and spoiler alert: she doesn't. She stalls long enough for her husband to come back, but he doesn't look the same because he's been gone for pretty much eighteen years, and he looks like a bum off the streets. But Athena was sorta involved with that too. Long tangent, though; Homer was fond of those. And then there's this complicated thing with a tree in their bedroom, and how Odysseus himself made the bed he and the Missus slept in, and all that junk. And that's pretty much it. Well, the condensed version, anyway."

The entire class fell silent. Maybe she was making it all up?

They were all hoping for Mr. Simmons to reprimand her to taking advantage of his calling on her, just so that they could feel justified in their taunting, but at the following words from Mr. Simmons, they all knew that they were in the wrong: "Oh, wonderful synopsis, Helga." The teacher then began addressing the entire class again, but most of them were looking at Helga as if she'd grown a second head. In response, she just glared back at them.

_Serves them right_, she thought smugly. _I know things._

Arnold, who was sitting right in front of Helga, was pretty speechless to say the least. He'd always known Helga was smart, but this just added another layer. Not only was her vocabulary astonishing whenever she was really caught up in the moment, but she had extensive knowledge about Ancient Greek poetry? Arnold didn't even know what an epic poem _was_; he was just going along with Mr. Simmons! _She's really, really smart. _Arnold rested the side of his head in the palm of his hand and he sighed softly. _She's amazing . . ._ He let his thoughts drift to their previous heat of the moment, and how absolutely terrific of a time he'd had, and he wished he could do it all over again.

He sat up straight. _But we __can__ do it again. We had an understanding; I know we did!_ He weighed his options; he pondered the consequences, but he just didn't care. He was too impressed and smitten _to_ care. He tore a scrap paper from his notebook as quietly and inconspicuously as he could, and scribbled,

_That was amazing. Heat of the moment after lunch?_

and smoothly planted it on Helga's desk.

While Arnold was writing, Helga was watching him, as she always was, and she did indeed noticed his sudden erratic behavior with a raised eyebrow. _What the heck's he up to?_ She shrugged and realized she didn't care; he was just too cute, and he was so sweet, and now she knew how great of a kisser he was, and _oh, Arnold . . ._

A paper dropped down on her desk. She looked at it curiously, and unfolded it to reveal a very startling, very unexpected request from a certain Football Headed boy in front of her. She gasped and immediately flicked her gaze to the back of Arnold's head, before bringing her attention back to the paper. _Is he serious? Does he actually want to kiss me? __Again?_ She inwardly swooned, took her purple pen, and, before she could second guess the fact that Arnold had written that with the intention for her to see it, wrote in shaky but beautiful cursive, 

_Janitor's closet. Be there or be square, Football Head._

and then casually and inconspicuously tossed it back to him.

Arnold eagerly opened her response, and a soft, almost lovesick sigh left him. He really didn't know why he was so taken with Helga lately, but he was so content, and so immensely happy, that he just went with it. Arnold had the tendency to over-analyze every little thing that happened to him, and he was aware of that, and he was sick of it. He just wanted something to be simple, and, although anything involving Helga was anything but simple, being able to ride this wave of whatever was way better than denying and ignoring, or even accepting. Sure, he knew in the end it was probably the unhealthy route, but right now he was too elated to really dwell on that part much. _I don't even think I like like Lila anymore, and I liked her for a __long__ time. But I honestly _can't _like her like her anymore. I mean, I've never really wanted to __kiss__ her. I just always wanted to hold her hand and spend time with her and stuff. But with Helga-- _

_\--Wait__. No. No way. I don't like like Helga. I can't! She's Helga G. Pataki and she hates me!_ _But_. Arnold sighed. _There was the whole FTi thing, but she took it all back! Kind of like . . . well, kind of like I did in the hallway a few weeks ago._ Arnold sat up straight. _Does that mean . . . could she __actually__ love me? I mean, I never really thought there was the side of Helga that liked to be kissed, and that spoke so softly, and held my hand without cutting off my circulation, so anything is possible. Helga is so . . . she's such a . . . _Arnold sighed again, though the air that escaped him was far less pleased, and more contemplative. _She doesn't make any sense. She was really . . . persuasive, on the rooftop of FTi, but I also thought she hated me since preschool. I just . . . I don't know anymore. But i__f she does, um. Love me. And if she likes kissing me as much as I like kissing her, and if she feels just as weird inside when we're doing it, then do __I _. . . 

Arnold quickly shook his head._ No, Arnold, don't think like that. Ignore everything that you just thought, because that's just going to ruin whatever truce you and Helga have. And also, well. Just let everything play out and whatever happens, happens--_

Arnold was suddenly brought back to reality when Gerald, who was sitting on the side of him, punched him on the arm, not hard, but hard enough to make him jump. "Come on, man, pay attention! Mr. Simmons just called on you!"

The confused nine-year-old boy rubbed his shoulder and looked up at the still-very-patient-looking teacher, who was leaning against his desk with his arms folded in front of him. Arnold offered a sheepish smile and swung his feet under his desk innocently, trying to mask the fact that he was thinking about loving and kissing and holding a girl that he used to swear up and down hated his guts. "Uh, sorry, Mr. Simmons. Um, could you repeat the question?"

The class snickered, as they always did whenever somebody was called out for not paying attention, but Mr. Simmons just smiled and gestured to the world map. "That's alright, Arnold. Would you please show the class where Greece is on this map?"

Arnold grimaced. He had absolutely _no_ idea where Greece was. Geography was his worst subject. Yes, he wanted to be an archaeologist, and exploring _was_ in his blood, after all, but he was terrible at geography. It was something he always knew he had to work on. He had always considered himself to be fairly decent at most subjects in school, (his straight A's seemed to support that), but he had pretty much faked his way through geography his whole life. He slowly stood up and trudged to the front of the class, standing before the large copy of the earth. He thoughtfully put a finger to his chin, as if he were thinking, and allowed his eyes to sweep across the map. _Isn't Greece somewhere in Europe? Or is that Rome? What's the difference anyhow? Maybe it's in South America. Yeah, it's probably next to Brazil or something. Or is that Chile? No, Chile's in Africa. _Arnold inwardly groaned. _I want to be an archaeologist, but I have no idea what I'm doing. Maybe if I stall long enough, Mr. Simmons will just call on someone else_.

Sure enough, Arnold's thoughts were interrupted by the teacher saying, "Arnold, would you like one of your special class mates to help you?"

Arnold turned around, flustered and embarrassed. He rubbed his arm and said, "Yeah. I'm not really feeling myself today." He chanced a glance at Helga, who was trying very, very hard not to laugh at Arnold's embarrassing display. Arnold huffed at the sight and said in a bitter, and yet somewhat playful voice, "Maybe Helga can help. She seems to know an _awful_ lot about Greece."

Mr. Simmons' eyes lit up. "Oh, Arnold, that's a great idea! Helga, why don't you come up!"

Helga's eyes narrowed as she took in the slight smirk on Arnold's face. _What a little twerp! Oh, him and I are going to have a nice long chat before he's getting any heat from me!_ "Whatever you say, Mr. Simmons. I'm always _happy_ to help." (Mr. Simmons missed the sarcasm, saying happily, "Oh, wonderful, Helga!") Helga stood up from her chair and stomped to the front of the room, trying to make her scowl as dark as possible. She pushed Arnold aside, contemplated for a moment, before immediately pointing to the small country of Greece. She turned to Arnold, giving him a smug smile, and said, "It's right here, Mr. Simmons. It used to be much bigger but the empire completely fell a part due to a severe lack of communication. And Sparta and Athens couldn't cooperate to literally save their lives." Her eyes turned playful and mischievous as she added, still making eye contact with the extremely amused Arnold, "None of them could handle the _heat_."

At these words, Arnold blushed a light pink and looked away.

Mr. Simmons watched the encounter in slight confusion, but he just shrugged and said, "Excellent work, Helga. And thank you, Arnold, for trying your best."

Helga's smirked increased as she punched Arnold on the arm and said in a voice too quiet for anybody else to hear, "Yeah, Football Head. You swung and you missed. Great job."

Arnold rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and said in an equally quiet voice, "You know, Helga, it's not just you who's capable of inflicting public humiliation." When he saw Helga open her mouth to retort, he continued, "Oh, yes, Helga. I would dare." He began walking to his seat, a satisfied grin on his face, and Helga followed after him, dumbfounded.

_We haven't spent hardly any time together, but I think he's already spending too much time around me._

* * *

"Uh, Arnold?"

Arnold looked up from his lunch, which he had been shoveling down his gullet since he sat down. It had taken him about three minutes and he was almost finished. His horrible table manners should be excused, he reasoned, considering he had somewhere to be. Not that he would tell anyone, not even his best friend: not only would Gerald taunt him for the rest of his life, but he'd also get the pounding of a lifetime from a very angry Helga G. Pataki. (Well, maybe not a _pounding_, but he'd _definitely_ be in trouble.) There was sauce from his Sloppy Joe dribbling down Arnold's chin. A very unattractive, (and yet absolutely adorable), sight. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face before saying, "Yeah?"

"Maybe you should slow down," the tall-haired boy commented. "You know, you're supposed to eat your food, not inhale it."

Arnold forced a laugh and said, "Oh, yeah! That's really funny!" before he returned to his food, eating it at the same merciless rate.

Gerald scrunched up his nose as he watched Arnold shove the last bite in his mouth, halfheartedly wipe his face again, and hastily chug his carton of milk. Once his mouth was satisfactorily empty, he nearly leaped to his feet, hurrying to put his tray away and calling over his shoulder, "I'll see'ya later, Gerald!"

Gerald opened his mouth to protest, but Arnold was already long gone. The abandoned boy leaned back on his chair, folded his arms, and shook his head._ Mmm mmm mmm, what on earth is that boy up to?_

* * *

Arnold slowly opened up the door to the janitor's closet, briefly glancing back into the hallway and looking both ways to ensure that nobody was watching him, and gently closed it behind him. He muttered into the darkness, "What am I doing?" and reached upwards blindly and pulled the cord, flooding the room with light. As his eyes adjusted, he heard a voice that made him nearly jump out of his skin.

"I don't know, Football Head, this was _your_ idea."

Arnold's eyes flitted to the far corner of the room, where the voice had come from, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw none other than Helga G. Pataki standing there, leaning against the wall with her arms folded and a smile on her face. Arnold found it important to note that she wasn't smirking: the grin on her face was sincere, and she seemed actually happy that the two of them were in a janitor's closet together, about to kiss, (and, knowing them, rather passionately).

The football headed boy took a deep breath to calm his nerves, (he really hadn't expected to see her right away), and he smiled back at her. "Hi, Helga. How'd you get here so early?"

Helga shrugged, propelling herself off the wall and taking a few steps towards him. "Didn't have any spare cash in my pocket, Miriam forgot to pack my lunch." She shrugged again. "Wasn't the first time, won't be the last."

Arnold frowned at this and began by saying, "Helga, you didn't eat -"

But the young girl didn't want her make out session to be interrupted by Arnold's well-intended pity, and interrupted him by saying, "Speaking of lunch, how much of it did you eat and how much of it did you just rub all over your face?"

Arnold quirked his eyebrows at her. "What do you mean?"

Helga laughed, taking a few more steps towards him, putting her hands on her hips, and leaning into his face with a light and playful smirk. "You have Sloppy Joe all over your chin and cheeks, Football Head."

Arnold blushed, remembering the comment he'd gotten from Gerald about how fast he'd been eating. He hastily wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to get the sauce off of his face, but it wasn't working so well. And besides, if he was going to kiss Helga, (which he really, really, really wanted to do), he couldn't very well grip her shoulders or wraps his arms around her knowing that his hands were covered with his lunch. But, then again, he couldn't kiss her knowing that his_ lips_ were covered with his lunch, either. Arnold felt disappointed. _I really want to kiss her. I'm finished denying it, because I've been thinking about it since our first kiss on the roof of FTi, but I want to do it right. I don't want to get her all covered in food just because I couldn't keep my hands to myself._ Arnold groaned at himself. _I used to be a gentleman. What happened to that?_

Helga chuckled at the display before her, shaking her head slightly and glancing around. Her eyes landed on a roll of paper towels, and she reached over, grabbing a few for herself. She lifted a nervous, (but externally confident), hand up to Arnold's face and proceeded to hesitantly wipe the food away, as if they were a (gulp) _couple_. (Helga still wasn't sure how far she was allowed to go with Arnold, but he seemed way more comfortable with her advances than she expected). _I'm 100% sure my heart is going to explode at any second, and I will have to buy an infinite amount of blank poetry books just to cover everything that has happened to me this past month._

Arnold blushed brightly at what she was doing, (her hands were dangerously close to his lips: he accidentally puckered against his will, and he hoped that Helga hadn't noticed). He didn't make a move to stop her, but just looked at her with wide and surprised, (but also pleased), eyes.

When Helga was satisfied with her clean-up job, she tossed the used paper towel in the large trash can in the corner. "There we go, Football Head. Nice and clean. And may that be a lesson to you," she said, pointing a finger at his face, "to either eat way more slowly, or to come prepared next time."

He clasped his hands behind his back and looked away. _Come prepared . . . next time? Does that mean she wants this to be a regular thing?_ Arnold thought for a moment before ultimately coming to a conclusion: _I could get used to this. I wouldn't mind. In fact, I'd probably like it even more than she would. _He shook his head, realizing that he was silent for far too long, and needed to give a response. "Um. Heh heh. Well, what can I say, Sloppy Joe's are pretty good."

Helga giggled and it immediately caught Arnold's front-and-center attention. His eyes flicked to her and his blush deepened at the coy expression on the pig-tailed girl's face. She looked so _happy._ It had been quite a long time since he'd seen her so happy. The muscles of her face were relaxed and she looked so comfortable around him, like she actually _liked_ him or something. While Arnold was contemplating this, he was taken by surprise by Helga suddenly reaching forward and gently taking the side of his face in one of her palms. Before he could really think about it, he leaned further into her touch. Helga giggled more at that, her thumb gently stroking his cheekbone.

"Well, well, well," she said in a low, romantic voice. "You spend all your time drinking _organic celery juice_, and yet come school time you pig out on mystery meat. Aren't you an _interesting_ little Football Head."

Helga's voice was so soft, and her touch was so tender and her smile was so _nice_ looking, and her eyes . . . _Oh, her eyes are so blue . . . I've known her since preschool, and I don't think I've ever noticed how absolutely beautiful her eyes are. _Arnold let out a sigh, placing his hand over hers. "Helga, I have no idea what I'm doing." He almost laughed at the look of confusion and almost disappointment as it crossed the poor girl's face, and he continued. "I have no idea what _we're_ doing, either, but whatever it is . . . I really, really like it."

Helga blinked at that, but a bright-eyed beam exploded across her face. "Well, Football Face, I have to say, I agree with you there. Whatever the heck is going on isn't so bad." A more mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes as she added, "In fact, it's really, really _good_, actually." She brought her other hand up to his other cheek, caressing his skin gently, as if she felt she'd hurt him if she pressed too hard.

Arnold's eyes grew half-lidded. _Oh, she's just so . . . just so . . ._ Arnold couldn't even think of a word great enough to describe how absolutely perfect Helga was to him in that solitary moment. Even the term perfect wasn't quite right. "Helga?"

"Yes, Arnold?"

Arnold gently removed Helga's hands from his face and held them in his own, rubbing a thumb over the smooth skin of her knuckles. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh." Helga blushed at Arnold's affectionate gesture. "Sure, I guess."

"How do you know so much about Greek poetry? I mean, I already knew you were smart." Arnold leaned over in an almost worshiping fashion, and brought her hands to his lips to place a sweet kiss on her knuckles. The sensation was similar to that of when he kissed Cecile's hand, but he had more concrete, objective answers. (Even if those answers were unbelievably complicated.) "But you just keep surprising me."

Helga blushed, (much to Arnold's amusement and pride), and she looked away, sheepish and slightly embarrassed. Although Helga didn't really like telling people, she'd been pretty much a straight-A student from the beginning. She never brought it up because being smart wasn't exactly intimidating in the good 'ol traditional way, (look at Phoebe), and also because then she'd be compared to Olga even _more_ than she already was. "Well," Helga began sheepishly in response to Arnold's question, "I read a lot. Guess it stuck with me."

Arnold let out a soft sigh. _I'm officially convinced she's a genius. _"You must be the smartest girl in the whole class!" The ten-year-old boy thought over his words before correcting himself. "No, wait! The smartest kid in the whole school!"

At this, Helga immediately shook her head back and forth. "Stop being a moron, Arnoldo. Have you _met_ Phoebe? Phoebe is basically a walking, talking encyclopedia! Do you _remember_ the time she got promoted to the sixth grade? And then there's," Helga suddenly adopted a very bitter expression on her face, "_Lila_. Little Miss Perfect." Helga actually shuddered at the idea of her; she held an irrational animosity towards the braided farm girl ever since the whole _Arnold Loves Lila_ fiasco.

Arnold shook his head. "Sure, they're smart, but you just read an epic poem from forever ago and you remembered _all_ those details." Arnold took a chance - a very bold move, even for Arnold - and took Helga's willing arms and wrapped them around his neck, so he could place his hands gently on her waist. He leaned forward, much closer than Helga was anticipating, as he said, "Yes, _very _surprising, Miss Pataki."

Helga swooned. All the verbal foreplay was making her weak in the knees and she couldn't bear it anymore. "Arnold -"

At this completely lovesick word from Helga, Arnold felt the courage well up inside of him and he pushed her up against the closet door, his arms coming around her body in a very, very possessive manner. He discovered something really very interesting about himself over the course of this whole _heat of the moment_ fiasco: he was quite fond of taking control in the case of Helga. He liked being the one to hold her tight against him, and push her up against doors, and initiate kisses. He never thought he'd be like that with girls; because he was gentle and well-aware of his gentleness, he always thought he'd be more considerate and delicate, but it just wasn't like that with Helga. He wasn't afraid of damaging her, or something like, like he might have been with Lila, if he had ever daydreamed of kissing her. Helga was strong; she was independent, and if she didn't like something, you would hear all about it, and, if you didn't want a black eye, you'd never do that something ever again. That's not to say that Helga didn't deserve a gentleman, because Arnold was more than willing to provide that for her, (he didn't question that one particular thought at the moment), but he knew that extinguishing the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach wasn't necessary when he was with her. And, judging by Helga's ready welcoming of his touch, she wasn't opposed to Arnold's suddenly-exposed passionate side, either. And her acceptance of this was just confirmed all the more by her having tightened her hold on him, and pulling him as close to her as was humanly possible.

Arnold looked at her completely-gone face for a moment, and knew without being able to look at his _own_ expression that he was in a similar state. For the first time, he had pinned Helga G. Pataki against a solid surface, and _she_ was prepared and excited, and _he_ wasn't jealous or angry. They were both running off of pure passion and adrenaline, and they were having the time of their lives.

"Helga," he whispered delicately.

"Arnold . . ."

"Helga?" Arnold pressed his forehead against hers. "Can I kiss you?"

Helga's following swoon was almost painful; she found it was growing rather difficult to breath. _Oh, Arnold, my love . . _. She let out a very deep sigh with whatever air she had left and felt her insides jumble up and knot together. "Oh, Arnold, please do -"

Without waiting for her to continue, Arnold eagerly pushed forward, crashing their lips together. Although the initial impact was passionate and almost aggressive, Arnold immediately slowed his pace, and gently caressed her lips as softly and tenderly as he could. After all, it was their first kiss where they both actually knew what was going on, even if they had no idea what it meant. He wanted it to be special; if what they were doing was to become a regular occurrence, then he assumed he should start out right. He didn't know if they were a couple; he didn't know if he had a girlfriend; he didn't know if their janitor-closet-kisses even counted as dates. All he knew was that Helga G. Pataki was an amazing kisser, and Arnold felt his heart swell as she let out a nearly-inaudible moan into his mouth.

At the small noise, he felt a sudden boldness come over him. He hesitantly, and yet confidently, tilted his head sideways so that he got a better angle of her mouth without their noses being in the way. She sucked in a breath, mirroring his action, but then just continued her passionate kissing as if nothing had changed. When he realized she wasn't going to break away, he poked his tongue out of his mouth and gently pressed it against her lips. She gasped at the sensation, her mouth opening in surprise, and he took the opportunity to slowly prod his way into her mouth, caressing her tongue with his. He had seen it in a movie once, and, although he shielded his eyes for appearances, his curiosity got the better of him. He was extremely nervous, and hoped he was doing it right, but his nerves were soothed when she let out a very deep, very satisfied moan before letting her own tongue dance with his.

He always felt so bold and outspoken around Helga, especially lately. She brought out the strangest traits in him; ones that he never thought he even possessed. At the smallest incident, he was irrationally jealous and protective. No... protective was too modest a term. In that moment, he felt downright possessive and territorial. Even when his cousin Arnie had dated Lila, he had never felt a burning in his stomach so painful as when he saw that wimpy kid kiss _his_ Helga's knuckles and wrap his shrimpy arms around _his_ Helga's waist. And the kid was just a third grader! He wasn't even a threat!

But it wasn't just jealousy she evoked in him. It was anger. She made him _angry_. She was really very accomplished at this, and he knew she knew it too.

They broke a part only for the reason of needing to breath and when Arnold's eyes fluttered open, his heart skipped a beat at the look of utter adoration on Helga's face. He took a few deep breaths; the longer he stared into the eyes of Helga, the warmer his heart felt, and, before he could stop himself, he found himself saying, just over a whisper, "Helga, I lo-"

He was interrupted by the door suddenly swinging open. Arnold and Helga's eyes widened considerably before they slowly turned to face the figure standing in the doorway. They couldn't quite break a part yet; their sensible motor functions hadn't exactly returned and, even if they _had_, their shock would've kept them in place anyhow. The man who had opened the door was bald and sported an impressive beer gut through his janitor's uniform. He was whistling some terrible song from the 80's that neither fourth grader recognized, and in his sausage fingers he twirled a broom and balanced a dustpan. It took him a few seconds to realize he wasn't alone, but when he looked up at the sight he did not respond as Arnold and Helga were expecting. They were expecting a detention, a public shaming, a suspension, heck, Helga was rooting for permanent expulsion, just so she wouldn't have to face her fellow peers ever again! But, alas, the janitor just blinked a few times and sighed deeply, pinching the bridge between his nose and saying in a very controlled, very patient voice, "Get out."

Arnold hesitated, glancing back at Helga, but the look of complete and utter relief on her face was enough to motivate him to smile reassuringly and release his firm grip on her waist, instead taking her hand in his and tugging her along after him. Over his shoulder, because he was Arnold, he called, "Uh... sorry! And thanks!"

The janitor just shook his head and returned his attention to his own tasks, not sparing the two kids another glance.

Once the children were a bit closer to the cafeteria, Arnold finally stopped running and leaned against a locker, squeezing Helga's hand a bit unconsciously. _I can't believe I almost . . ._ Arnold shook his head, biting his lip as hard as he could to try to punish himself for almost telling _Helga G. Pataki_ that he loved her, right after kissing her like _that_! He wasn't even entirely sure his love was true; the words had just come naturally to him! He took a few deep breaths, squashing his shame, before looking at her. She seemed placid and inattentive, and that worried him. She didn't look nervous, or angry, or embarrassed, or even flustered at still having her hand in his. She just looked like she was along for the ride. "Helga? Are you okay?" he said quietly, squeezing her hand again, this time intentionally.

"We just kissed in a closet," she said in a monotone voice, still staring absently at some spot in front of her.

Arnold blushed at her blunt statement but he just nodded and said, "Yeah."

"And you . . . you used your, uh . . ." she fell silent, but pointed at her open mouth.

Arnold blushed further as he realized what she was trying to say. _I put my tongue . . . in her . . . I'm __nine__ years old! __She's__ ten years old! We're __fourth__ graders! What was I thinking?! _"Uh, yeah . . . um, sorry about that, by the way. I didn't, uh . . ." he swallowed, but fell silent, knowing that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would be very incriminating.

Helga blinked a couple times, before swallowing. "No, that's okay. It wasn't . . . _bad_," she stuttered out. As an afterthought, she added, "Okay, okay. I can work with this."

"Work with this?" Arnold repeated. Confusion replaced his embarrassment now, and he titled his head slightly in his inquiry. "What do you mean?"

"None of your beeswax, _Arnoldo_," she sneered with a scowl, but Arnold could see the smile beneath it, and that made him smile, too. "Now," she said, releasing his hand, "We should get back to lunch before people get suspicious."

"You could just tell them that you pounded me," Arnold said with a shrug. "Wouldn't be too hard to believe."

"Oh, please," Helga said with a grin, folding her arms in front of her chest, forgetting for a moment that she had to keep up appearances and she allowed herself to tease her beloved. "When have I _ever_ pounded you?" She didn't even realize how suspicious that sounded, but it had just felt so right to say it, so she did. She wasn't one to think about the consequences whenever she felt an inkling of that caliber.

Arnold frowned slightly at that. _Huh, she's right. She's always threatened to pound me, but she's never actually __done it._ He opened his mouth to question her, but the sincere smile on her face stopped him. _She's never been this comfortable with me. I'm not going to mess it up by asking unnecessary questions. Besides, why would I complain about __not__ being pounded? That's stupid_. He smiled back. "True. But the other kids don't need to know about that."

Helga blinked a few times, but shook her head in amusement. "Keeping secrets. Offering to lie. Kissing in _closets_. Crimeny, Football Head, I'm a _bad_ influence on you."

Arnold shrugged, turning away to return to the cafeteria, but not before calling over his shoulder, "You absolutely are, Helga. But you're a _bad_ influence in a _good_ way." With a satisfied smile, and a half-lidded gaze, Arnold opened the door in front of him, and left a dazed and startled Helga in his wake. 


	5. A Fresh, New Memory That Already Exists

Helga bit her bottom lip as she sat down at her usual table in the cafeteria. Phoebe was still in line getting school lunch, so Helga figured now would be a good time to let out all her wallows without any witnesses. Of course, opening her lunch box was always an ordeal, because, even though she'd learn to expect inedible food, extremely unhealthy snacks found at the back of the cupboard, or no food at all, it was still upsetting. She always hoped things would change. She always had that horrible, horrible hope that her mother would actually start caring about her again, at least enough to pack her a decent lunch. But ever since she quit her job at the Beeper Emporium, she'd relapsed into her smoothie habit and hadn't returned to the doting mother she had been.

Helga sighed and shook her lunch box lightly, just so she could only _hear_ the emptiness and not exactly have to _see_ it, and, of course, there was no clattering of fruits, or distant swishes of sandwiches in sandwich bags. It was empty. _Again_. It was the third time that week, and it was _Wednesday_. And, because she was late to school that morning, (her mother had forgotten to wake her up), she didn't have the wits about her to grab a couple dollars from Miriam's wallet. She would go lunch-less. _Again_.

She knew that she wasn't very good at hiding her disdain for her parents, (actually, she actively _spread_ her disdain to anybody who would listen), but her going hungry during the day--well, she liked to keep that one to herself. That evoked pity, and that was the last thing she desired from the people around her. She was strong; people recognized her for being strong, it was one of the only characteristics of hers that her classmates actually respected, (a silent, often subconscious regard), and, knowing that she was so neglected at home, (and that that neglect actually hurt her quite a bit), would diminish that respect.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped slightly when she heard her best friend's soft voice beside her say, "Oh, my. Your mother forgot to pack your lunch again?"

Helga rolled her eyes, pushing the lunch box across the table and resting her chin on one of her palms. "Come on, Phoebe, is it really that surprising? It's pretty much my daily routine now. Open my lunchbox, get disappointed. Crimeny, sometimes I just hate them _so much_." After a few deep breaths, she blinked at having admitted that and shot a brief glance at her best friend, who had a steady, sad look when they made eye contact. Helga shook her head. "Just forget it."

Phoebe hesitated before saying in her sweet, high-pitched voice, "Forgetting." There was a short pause before she added, "Would you like to share my lunch with me?" She knew that a request of that nature would translate into pity, and Phoebe also knew how much Helga despised being pitied, but the small, petite Asian girl really hated to see her best friend so sad, especially if she could help fight that sadness with something as simple as sharing a lunch.

The pig-tailed girl sighed and shook her head again. "No, I'm not really all that hungry."

"Oh," Phoebe said, frowning a little bit. "Are you sure?"

Helga shrugged and didn't say anything. As far as she was concerned, her silence said it all, and demanded an extra level of patience on her best friend's part.

* * *

A young boy with a football-shaped head watched Helga from across the cafeteria, a deep frown on his face and his eyebrows quirked. He felt very disgruntled, and a wave of hatred towards Mr. And Mrs. Pataki crashed in his stomach. He had been watching Helga ever since she sat down, (for . . . reasons), and he had seen the look of sadness cross her face. It was the third time that week that Helga shook her lunch box, just to see, just to make sure, but it was the first time that she hadn't rolled her eyes and went straight to the lunch line. _She doesn't have any lunch money_, Arnold confidently deduced, and that wave, that bitter wave, went through him again. He had watched a short interaction once Phoebe sat down, followed by Helga trying to convince a disbelieving Phoebe that she was alright, and that she wasn't hungry, and it made Arnold's hands clench into fists. Arnold wasn't used to hatred, but the fact that Helga's parents would neglect such a special young girl was beyond Arnold's comprehension. Helga was intelligent, she was funny, she was witty, she was creative, she was independent, she was strong, she was passionate, she was determined, she was . . . well, Arnold couldn't really picture a more ideal fourth grader. And even if Helga _was_ average, ignoring and emotionally abusing your child was one of the worst things a parent could do, in Arnold's opinion. He knew that that particular opinion had stemmed from his lack of parental guidance growing up, for Arnold held very high standards for parents. His own parents always perfectly fit these high standards in his dreams, which he valued very much, because when he was sleeping was the only time he could actually see and talk to and love his parents. In his dreams, his parents were always kind and nice and doting. They worried about him if he was late coming home from school, and they tucked him into bed each night.

It made him sad that Helga never experienced that.

"-nold! Hey, Arnold!"

A hand suddenly waved in front of his face, causing the young football-headed boy with the peculiar fashion sense to blink a few times and turn toward the source of the distraction. Of course, it was his best friend, who had a small smirk on his face, and proceeded to elbow Arnold in the ribs. "You know, you've really been on Helga's case lately."

Arnold swallowed nervously, looking down at his lunch with a light blush and an expression that was somehow both a frown and a smile. _Calm down. Gerald can't know. He's just as oblivious as he was last time. _"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_, you've been staring at her all angry for the past three minutes. I knew you'd eventually get fed up with her constant yelling and, man Arnold, I have to say, I'm proud of you for finally seeing her for who she really is." Gerald's smirk grew as he turned his attention to the frowning Helga. "I always thought it was weird how much you just _let_ her bully you. You've really turned the cheek for the past seven years. It's about time you -"

"Gerald, I'm not mad at Helga," Arnold interrupted with a frown.

Gerald's smirk fell. "What do you mean?"

"Look at her," Arnold said, gesturing to Helga. "Her mother forgot to pack her lunch again, and she doesn't have any money to buy a school lunch. She's going to go back to class without any food again." Arnold sighed. "I know she doesn't like people feeling bad for her, but I do anyway." Arnold rested his head on his palm, resting his elbow on the table, and gazed at the blonde-haired girl with a thoughtful, worried quirk to his mouth. "She looks so sad."

The boy with the tall hair was silent for a moment, taking in the concern in Arnold's face. He didn't like it. Arnold had always been worried about Helga whenever she was in times of trouble. Heck, he lived through _way_ too many of Arnold's verbal musings; him wondering why she was sad, or how he could help her. Gerald lost track of the numbers of times he'd told his best friend that Helga was just a mean old bully. He never understood why Arnold was so patient with her. Granted, he was patient with practically everybody, but Gerald always assumed that there were only so many chances that people deserved, and Helga was past the point of no return. Gerald finally said, "Arnold, _why_ do you care so much about her? She's been _awful_ to you since you two _met_. She _hates_ you."

The statement made Arnold smile slightly, because he knew that Helga didn't _really_ hate him. Sure, he wasn't her favorite person, and she didn't like him like him even a little bit, but she definitely didn't _hate_ him. Arnold contemplated how to answer, unsure of how much he should actually reveal. Finally, he settled on an ambiguous, "I don't care if she hates me." He stood up from his chair, ready to leave before Gerald started questioning him. "I don't hate her."

Sure enough, Gerald opened his mouth, only to watch his best friend walk back to the lunch line, pulling a couple dollar bills out of his pocket.

* * *

"Are you prepared for our history test tomorrow?" Phoebe asked, trying to stir up conversation. The attempt fell flat, because all Helga did was shrug and say,

"Yeah, I guess so."

Phoebe frowned. "Our unit on Ancient Greece was riveting, don't you think?"

Helga didn't bother to answer more than a shrug.

Phoebe sighed, taking a few sips of milk, trying to think of something else to talk about that would successfully take Helga's mind off of her parent's latest failing. Before she could, however, another person suddenly took a seat beside Helga, a soft smile on his face. He just gazed at the pigtailed girl for a few seconds, that smile unwavering, (except, maybe growing, Phoebe noted), but Helga, however, was too wrapped up in whatever she was thinking about to notice the addition to the table. Without looking away from her empty lunch box, she began absently drumming her fingers on the table to some beat she created in her head. Phoebe couldn't help but smile just a little bit at the worried and caring expression on his face.

"Helga?" Arnold asked quietly, causing Helga to jump at the sudden, (familiar, welcome, desired), voice addressing her.

"Arnold?!" She gasped loudly, leaning away from him in surprise. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and tried to salvage her misstep by firmly planting a scowl back on her face. "I mean . . . what do _you_ want, Football Head? And whatever the heck it is, it better be good, because I'm _not_ in the mood to tolerate the musings of wet-blanket, do-gooder little _shrimps_."

Arnold smiled warmly at her, completely ignoring her extended list of insults, and pushed a tray of food in front of her. "I know you'll probably say no at first, and you might hit me or yell at me, but I got you lunch, and I really hope you take it. I noticed that you don't have anything to eat today, and I saw you looking," _Don't say sad, that'll throw her off and she'll yell for sure_, "looking _troubled_, and I wanted to see you smile." He chuckled a little bit before tilting his head in playful contemplation. "Or scowl, whatever makes you comfortable."

Helga blushed at Arnold's concern, her eyes flicking down at the tray he had handed her before settling on Arnold's hopeful gaze. _He's being too nice. Why did he even notice all that?_ Helga was hit with the sudden realization that, _He must've been watching me, the little twerp! And that could've happened for only two reasons: 1) he thinks I'm . . . cute, or whatever, which is completely impossible, or 2) ever since we've become whatever we are, he's decided I'm his _project_ and is just doing what he considers a _service_ to me. _Her blood momentarily ran cold. _He can't possibly think that. _Helga swallowed heavily._ Can he? I mean, he isn't doing this _whole _thing out of pity, is he? _She shook her head of doubts, and settled on narrowing her blue eyes suspiciously. "What's your angle, Head Boy?"

He shrugged, his smile unwavering. "There's no angle."

She pushed the tray back to him. "This feels an awful lot like pity, Football Head, and pity is the _last_ thing I need right now."

Arnold shrugged again. "I don't pity you, Helga." He glanced at Phoebe before leaning in closer to the blushing pig-tailed girl so that only she could hear him. "But I _am_ worried about you, and I really want to see you happy. Going hungry _isn't_ going to make you happy, and it would mean a lot to me if you'd eat."

She furrowed her eyebrow and frowned, speaking in an equally quiet voice, "Answer me one question, Football Head, and _maybe_ I'll take your offer and reassure your sensitive little heart that you're still the good Samaritan that you've always been."

He grinned. "Sure, anything."

Helga shifted uncomfortably, completely avoiding his intently-listening gaze. "I'm not your . . . _project_, am I?"

Arnold blinked a few times, not having expected that. He raised an eyebrow. "My project? What do you mean?"

At his oblivious and confused answer, she smiled wider than Arnold had ever seen her smile. It only lasted a few seconds, before her eyes swept the room, and she hid her happiness behind her standard scowl. "Doesn't matter, Football Head." She folded her arms over her chest, and tried to appear confident, but her voice was shy and hesitant as she said, "Now down to business. Um . . . if I _do_ take this, we won't ever speak of it again, right?"

Although he was still a bit confused by her previous question as well as her sudden reassurance _by_ his confusion, he smiled kindly, and pushed the tray back to her. "If that's what you want, I'll forget about it as soon as I go back to my table."

She found herself wanting to smile back at him, but she again tried to hide it behind her normal gruff exterior. "Well, thanks, Arnold. I guess." Her posture straightened almost immediately and she pushed a finger in front of his face. "But you're still a Football Head, and a few good deeds and sarcastic jabs won't change that, no matter how much you want them to."

Although Helga had insulted his head _yet again_, he wasn't offended. If anything, he felt _especially_ happy that she was insulting his head, because it felt as if they were speaking this secret language that nobody else understood, and he liked that. "You're welcome, Helga."

Just as he was standing up to leave, he felt Helga tugging on his sweater sleeve. "Wait, uh, Football Head." He stopped walking, and looked back down at her curiously. She released him quickly, and swallowed nervously. "Um . . . my office?"

Arnold quirked his eyebrows at her, a nervous smile on his face, silently asking her if she meant what he _thought_ she meant, and her blushing cheeks and matching nervous grin confirmed his suspicions. His face heated up in a strange mix of anticipation, nerves, and excitement. "Sure, Helga."

Helga's eyes swept the room briefly before she stood up, and seized the front of his shirt, lifting him almost completely off his feet and pulled his face dangerously close to hers. Arnold's eyes widened in surprise, and just a little bit out of fear, as Helga's strength really was rather intimidating. They stared at each other for a moment before Helga whispered, "Fake a fight? Makes it seem more practical that I drag you to my office under the clever ruse of wanting to pound you."

He discretely rolled his eyes. "Sounds fair to me."

She winked just to show that the following words out of her mouth weren't to be taken seriously, and then slapped on her regular artificial scowl. Her voice was harsh, gruff, slightly louder than she normally spoke, and clearly for show. "What the heck do you think you're _doing_, Football Head? Do you think I'm some sort of charity case? I don't _need_ your stinking pity!"

Arnold winked back, (the eye that was furthest away from the cafeteria), and then frowned, trying to show Helga that he, too, could think on the spot. Also, he sort of thought this whole charade was actually rather . . . fun. And exciting. "Helga, I was just trying to be nice -"

"Well, go bring your niceness somewhere _else_," she retorted venomously, leaning in closer to his face. "You know, Football Head, I've been way too courteous to you lately."

He wanted to snort at that double-ended statement, but he kept up the act. "This is what you call _courteous_?"

"No, this is what I call making up for lost time." She briefly and inconspicuously swept her eyes around the cafeteria, and was pleased to see that she didn't have many people's attention. Helga threatening Arnold was old news, so nobody paid mind to the conflict. And the people who's eyes _were_ on the bully and victim, (like Gerald, Lila, Brainy, and, for some reason, Big Patty), looked convinced. Phoebe, on the other hand, was looking at them strangely, and not at all concerned about the dispute before her. Helga ignored her, and nodded slightly to Arnold before dropping him on the floor, grasping his wrist, and dragging him through the doors to the cafeteria.

* * *

Helga closed the closet door behind them, turning to see a playful frown on Arnold's face. "You could've been a _little_ more gentle," he complained, rubbing his wrist dramatically.

"Hey, I had to make it look real, Football Head," she responded with a scowl. "Otherwise they might think I _care_ about you or something." She blushed a light pink, and failed to notice the matching blush that briefly flashed across his face at her words. She looked down at her hands, twiddling her thumbs absently. "Listen, I know _now_ isn't exactly the time, because I don't really want to get caught by the janitor again, but I was just wondering if you're," Helga swallowed nervously, "doing anything after school today?" She rubbed her elbow uncomfortably, dreading the answer, but dreading actually _asking_ the inevitable question even more.

"I don't think so," Arnold said, the frown from his face obliterated, and his voice sounded oddly amused at the situation. He knew exactly where she was steering the conversation, and, although he was slightly nervous and maybe a _little_ bit anxious, the fact that she was that embarrassed warmed his heart beyond belief. _She's so cute_, he thought as his grin widened. "I'm pretty sure I'm free for the entire afternoon. Why do you ask?"

"It's just, I really appreciate you getting me lunch today, Arnold," she said softly, finally bringing her gaze up to make eye contact. "Really. You didn't have to do that, but you did anyway." She playfully punched him on the arm and his smirk softened to a rather adoring smile. "Like I said earlier. Do-gooder shrimp. But, um . . ." she lost her confident smile and averted her eyes again. "Wow, I don't know how to word this without dying from an aneurysm caused by fatal exposure to embarrassment. Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

Arnold grinned, forcing down some chuckles at her continued sheepishness, and also at her rather _colorful_ way of speaking. "I think I _may_ have an idea, but I can't know for sure. Mind explaining?"

Helga scowled and put her hands on her hips at his cheeky response. "Hey, _bucko_, my face is about as red as a tomato over here, and you're standing there making _jokes_. And to put that first thing into perspective, you are the _only_ person who has _ever_ seen me blush before, and that's _including_ Phoebe! And I'm a busy woman, Head Boy, who's willing to make an opening in my booked schedule, just for _you_. I don't exactly _excel_ at politely asking for things, so I'm going to _try_ to channel my inner Football Head, and be courteous: I would like . . . to . . ." her confidence dwindled, and her voice trailed off. She gulped at the amused twinkle in Arnold's eyes. "I would like to _spend time_ with you later today," she managed to choke out. She was pretty sure her face was about to spontaneously combust at any second. "Heat of the moment after school?"

"Well, I don't know, Helga," Arnold said playfully, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the door. "You've been pretty mean to me today."

Helga sighed deeply, pinching the bridge between her nose. _Stupid Football Head. I almost hate that we're weird kissing friends, or whatever the heck we are, because now he thinks that he's allowed to just make fun of me with no consequences. Well, _he's_ in for a rude awakening. _With this comforting thought in mind, she looked up. Arnold, however, still looked amused, like he was _enjoying_ her embarrassment, and that age-old idea popped into her head again. She smirked wickedly at him and grabbed Arnold's head in her hands, planting a brief kiss right on his lips. She didn't give Arnold a chance to react; she wanted to leave him dangling, wanting more but not being able to get it. She lingered for only a couple seconds before she pulled away, a dreamy and smug smile on her face.

Once Arnold had processed that she was kissing him, Helga's lips were already gone, and he blinked a few times, a blush painting his cheeks. His arms fell to his sides and his posture slouched, but he recovered fairly quickly, and grinned up at her. "Uh, forget I just said that," he added in a goofy voice. "You've been very, _very_ nice to me today."

Helga laughed at him, folding her arms over her chest, satisfied at having successfully coaxed him into making out with her after class. "That's what I thought. Now, the janitor's closet is a no-go, and not only because it's after school hours, but also because after our little run-in with the janitor, this room just makes me feel weird and exposed. It's okay for right now, but that's just because today we're keeping our lips to ourselves. Well," she added mischievously, "_mostly_." Arnold's grin was still plastered on his face, and her stomach fluttered. "So we'll have to meet somewhere else, where there won't be anybody at all. Any ideas?"

Arnold blinked a few times, forcing himself out of his lovesick stupor. It wasn't easy, however, because she had just verbalized that she wanted to take him somewhere where they would be completely alone. With nobody else around, meaning no interruptions. He blushed at the very thought. "I'd suggest Mighty Pete, but I'm sure _someone_ will be there. It's a nice day outside. And there's this spot underneath the bridge in the park that not many people know about, but it's too open. Too risky. Um . . ." he paused for a moment in thought. "We could just go back to the Boarding House? My Grandpa might walk in on us if we . . . _you know _. . . in my bedroom, mostly because he likes making fun of me when it comes to stuff like this, but we should be fine if we do it on the roof."

Our blonde-haired heroine blushed deep red at how casual he sounded when discussing possible locations for them making out, but she swallowed heavily. _He's . . . the Boarding House . . . _permission_?! _She cleared her throat, dropping her arms to her sides. "That . . . yeah, that . . . sounds good, Arnold. Just meet me by my locker after class lets out."

He nodded in response. "Alright, sounds good." He put a hand on the door knob, and was about to leave the closet, when something that had been on his mind over the past couple weeks suddenly sprang up again. The thought made his stomach heavy, and his blood felt thicker in his veins. It was guilt. The thought made him feel guilty, and he _hated_ feeling guilty. It weighed on him so heavily, so completely. He turned back around to face her, a frown on his face. "Wait, how do I get Gerald to leave me alone?"

Helga's eyebrow raised in surprise. "You haven't told him?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You told me not to. Something about an inevitable pounding?" At this last part, despite his guilt, he felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes, and said matter-of-factly, "Well, that was just because of the first closet thing. I assumed you would've told him after all _this_ happened. I mean, not that I _want_ Tall Hair Boy to find out; he hates me enough as it is. He'd spread this around in a heartbeat, and I don't want to have to sit through this whole lecture about what I'm 'allowed' to do with his best friend and what I'm 'not allowed' to do with his best friend. _Crimeny_," she added under her breath.

Arnold couldn't help the small grin on his face. _I was feeling guilty three seconds ago, but now Helga G. Pataki, of all people, is making me feel better. I can't believe it. She's overbearing, she's rude, she's belligerent, but she just makes me so happy. How does she do that?_ He shook that thought away as he chastised, "I don't think you give Gerald enough credit, Helga. He won't tell anybody if I ask him not to. He's my best friend."

Helga deadpanned. "Sure, he's _your_ best friend, but he's _my_ worst enemy, and I mean, _actually_ my worst enemy. I hate to break it to you, but you're out of the running now, Football Head." She smirked as he rolled his eyes. "Now, answer me this: does Gerald hate me?"

"Well . . . yes," he said hesitantly, but then hastily added, "but I don't -"

"Does he hate me a _lot_ or just a _little_ bit?"

He sighed. "He _says_ a lot, but I'm sure -"

"And if I were to walk up to Tall Hair Boy and start talking to him like I'm talking to you now, (you know, mostly pleasant and non-violent), will he be nice right back?"

"He'll be surprised, but I'm sure after a few minutes, you two could be great friends -"

Helga shook her head. "Oh, Football Head . . . you poor, dense Football Head. Gerald and I just . . . we just don't get along. And I'm sure if you were to tell him about whatever the heck this is, he'll find some way to blame _me_ for it. You know, say that I guilt-tripped you, or forced you to, or blackmailed you, or some other equally horrible thing that I would never do. Before you brought me lunch today, what exactly did Geraldo have to say about that?"

"Well, I didn't really give him a chance to say anything," Arnold said, his eyes fixed at his shoes. _I know he hates her, but I don't want her to know that! She doesn't deserve anybody's hate! But she's also right. It'll take a miracle for those two to get along_.

"And you did that _because,_." Helga prompted.

"Because I knew he was just going to accuse me of 'being too nice to my bully', and then he'd insist that you don't deserve my kindness," Arnold said with a huff, bringing his eyes up to her. "Which you do, by the way. Deserve my kindness," he added shyly, reaching out and taking her hand hesitantly and squeezing reassuringly.

Helga blushed, and averted her eyes. "Oh . . . heh heh, thanks, Arnold. And, hey, in return, I guess you deserve me, uh . . . not pounding you." She looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, you've got a real advantage befriending me like this. Only you and Phoebe know the perks of having a fierce defender like me on their side. I do _not_ make a good enemy; lay a finger on Phoebe and I'll send you to the depths of the underworld with a black eye and four dislocated limbs." _He'll probably think I'm joking. Which, I guess I sort of am, because Football Head doesn't need _me_ protecting him. He's got a freaking black belt, for Pete's sake!_

Though Arnold was blushing furiously at the prospect of Helga caring enough about him to want to defend him, he rolled his eyes and said, "You know, Helga, I _do_ have a black belt -"

"Doesn't matter," she said, waving him off with her free hand. "I have two fists that crave human contact. You can just sit back and drink your green tea or whatever."

He shook his head, still blushing, and continued. "We're getting _way_ off subject. And now that I think about what you said, I guess you raise some good points. I don't know if I want to tell Gerald. Not only because I'm afraid he'll . . . ruin whatever this is, but also because he thinks I hate you, even though I've _repeatedly_ told him that I don't."

"Well, thanks for that, I guess," she said with a smirk.

He smiled at her and nodded as a recognition of her gratitude. "So, I _haven't_ told Gerald, and I _won't_ tell Gerald. Have you told Phoebe?"

Helga sighed, a familiar guilt that she'd been feeling as of late hitting her again. Phoebe was the greatest best friend she could have ever asked for, but Helga just had trouble sharing anything about her life outside of what was clear to everybody else. She could share about how her mother falls asleep all the time, because that's not something you can cover up. But telling Phoebe that she's been making out with the love of her life? She didn't know if she could handle being that blunt. She had never even outright admitted to Phoebe that she was in love with Arnold to begin with! "I, uh. Well, of _course_ not. I don't tell anybody anything! Even if I want to!" She sighed, keeping her gaze on him steady. "Arnold, I don't think we should tell anybody."

Arnold nodded. "Yeah, I think that's best. Not only is it an awkward topic to suddenly bring up in conversation, but I honestly don't know how Gerald would react to this."

"Same here, with Phoebe," Helga said with a nod.

There was a break in conversation.

"Uh, Football Head?" Helga's unsure voice said. She blushed a dark red, and this greatly intrigued Arnold, who looked up at her with a slight grin on his face. "This might sound kinda weird, but I'm . . . really excited for, you know. Special heat of the moment time." Helga immediately cursed herself, because, _Special heat of the moment time?! What the heck was that?_

"_Me, too," _Arnold blurted out confidently and eagerly, before he could stop himself. At Helga's slightly surprised face, he cleared his throat awkwardly, and blushed warmly. _Real smooth, Arnold_. He purposefully lowered his voice to compensate for his embarrassing, childish exclamation before, saying in as close to a baritone as his nine-year-old vocal cords would allow, "Um. I mean, yeah, me, too."

Helga giggled, squeezing his hand in hers. _Oh my God, he's so adorable, I can't stand it_! She grinned at him in amusement, saying, "Well, I hope you can make it through the rest of the day, Head Boy. And don't worry, I'll be sure to send you some spitballs as a way of saying 'hello.'"

He grinned. "Really? _Spitballs_? That's your ideal communication? Not note passing, or whispering, or, I don't know, waiting until after class?"

"Hey, some things need to stay the same after all," she said with a shrug, taking her hand from his. She cracked her knuckles and put as strong a scowl on her face as her heart could allow, given the fact that she was still in a confined place with her beloved. "Now, out of my way, geek bait, I've got lunch that some Mother Theresa wannabe gave me, and it's calling my name!"

Arnold rolled his eyes, following her out of the closet with a small grin, and muttered, "Whatever you say, Helga."

* * *

As soon as Arnold returned to his lunch table, he was assaulted by frantic questions from his best friend.

"Arnold, man, are you okay?! Did she break any bones? Any internal bleeding?" He gave Arnold a brief once-over, and when he didn't notice anything wrong with Arnold's appearance, (not even disheveled hair, or a disgruntled face), he raised an eyebrow. "She didn't pound you?" When Arnold shrugged, his curiosity increased ten-fold. "Well, what happened, then? It's not every day Helga G. Pataki drags someone to her 'office' and they return unscathed."

"Nothing, everything's fine," he rushed out, kicking his feet under the table, and hoping Gerald would drop his line of questioning before he got too flustered and accidentally told the truth. Without bothering to see if Gerald believed him, Arnold focused his attention on an apple that was on his tray, kicking his feet as innocently as he could.

Gerald looked at him with worried eyes and a raised eyebrow. "Man, you know you're the worst liar I've ever met?" he said finally, folding his arms over his chest. "You've been acting all weird whenever I bring Helga up, and you just disappear with her into the hallway every other week, doing who knows what. If I did that, wouldn't you find that strange?" Arnold shook his head in an attempt to get Gerald off his back, still looking down at his food. Gerald sighed. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. If Helga's blackmailing you, or threatening you, you don't have to hide it. And, man, she's always done this to you, and you've never been one to take it quietly. I mean, you used to tell me _everything_ that girl did to you. What makes this time any different?"

With a frown, our football-headed hero opened his mouth, about to defend the pigtailed girl, but then he remembered the deal he had just made with her, so he clamped his mouth shut, nodded, and said, "Everything's fine, Gerald, I promise."

It wasn't like he was _lying_.

* * *

"I think Grandma made some cookies last night, if you want some."

Helga followed Arnold onto Vine St., heading in the direction of the Sunset Arms. They had been pretty silent the whole walk from the school over, but that was mostly because they were still a little shaken up at the many detours they had to take. It wasn't every day that Arnold and Helga G. Pataki were caught walking together, and, although it had happened before, the fact that they were going to Arnold's house for less than orthodox activities, being caught sounded more terrifying than it normally would have been.

She stopped at the bottom of Arnold's stoop, watching as he started to hop up the steps, before saying matter-of-factly, "Cookies? I thought we were making out on your roof?"

Arnold stumbled up the stairs, almost falling flat on his face at her sudden, unexpected, and unfairly _blunt_ words. He took a deep breath before holding his hands behind his back and giving her a bit of a look. "Well, yeah, but don't you think it'd be _weird_ for you to just leave afterwards?"

She raised one side of her eyebrow at him and folded her arms over her chest. "It's only weird if you _make_ it weird, Football Head."

Arnold sighed, blushing a deep crimson, and pinching the bridge between his nose. _She is one of the most difficult--I swear, she tries to embarrass me as much as possible whenever she's with me_. He looked back up at her, a stern look in his eyes. "Helga, could you maybe wait until later to humiliate me? We're still on my stoop, and I'd rather be in the comfort of my own roof before I completely crumble from nerves. You don't see _me_ trying to embarrass _you_ right now." Helga just smirked at him, as he had done in the hallway with her, and only then did Arnold finally catch on to what was happening: it was payback for earlier. He huffed in frustration and folded his arms over his chest. "You know, I'll get you back for this, Helga."

Helga's smirk greatly differed from Arnold's miffed frown, and she stepped closer to him, leaning her face in closer to his. "Bring it on, Football Head."

He leaned in closer to match her, and felt a smirk of his own spread across his mouth. "Just you wait." After a few second staring contest, Arnold leaned back, his smirk still in full-swing, and he strolled eagerly up the remaining steps, gesturing for her to follow. When she was by his side, he instructed in a rather patronizing voice, "Now, step back a little."

Helga folded her arms over her chest at his sudden command, standing beside him on the stoop. "I'm sorry, did you just give me an _order_?"

He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah."

"_Fat chance_ -"

"Helga, whenever this door opens, a herd of animals comes running outside, and if you stand in the way, you'll be trampled. Wouldn't want that, would we?" Arnold answered cheekily, not even reacting to her dramatics.

She hesitated. She didn't like taking orders from anyone, (even if the orders weren't really orders, and more like polite suggestions), but this one seemed practical, and, as much as she wanted to say no, she sighed and took a step behind Arnold. Their arms brushed against each other, making Helga blush and look anywhere else besides the profile of Arnold's face. To mask the awkward moment, (well, _Helga_ thought it was awkward; Arnold just really enjoyed the brief contact and the fact that she was allowing herself to be _almost_ protected, [in a _way_ protected], and by _him_, of all people!), Helga spat out, "But you should know that I hate you, Football Head."

Arnold grinned at her as the animals ran past and they could finally enter his house. "I know."

Helga found herself smiling back as he led her into the kitchen. She was nearly going out of her mind due to nerves, but the reassurance she got from his calm eyes and smile made all of her stomach-churning anxiety turn into sweet, sweet butterflies. Her heart fluttered pleasantly, and she let out a soft sigh. _He's smiling at me! I think I'm going to __die__! _She felt her mind wander into the land of inner monologues, but she roped herself back in before she got too carried away. One thing she did _not_ want to explain was her tendency to say Arnold's name aloud in her daydreams. Arnold had been nice enough to invite her into his humble home, and she didn't want to freak the poor kid out by switching into psycho-in-love mode without warning or provocation. She blinked a few times to clear it, but couldn't help but hold his gaze, and her smile didn't waver a bit.

The two were caught up smiling at each other in a moment of rare tenderness and contentment that they didn't even realize that Phil was already in the kitchen when they entered. He was sitting at the table, his standard roast beef sandwich in front of him, and his eyebrows flew up to his long-receded hairline at the sight of his grandson. Arnold was looking quite dazed; his eyes were half-lidded and he was smiling in that goofy way whenever he had a crush on a girl, except it was exponentially more defined. Helga looked to be in the same lovesick state. Phil contemplated interrupting their little silent conversation, but he decided to stay silent to see how it would all pan out. It was bound to be interesting.

Arnold and Helga stopped walking when the door to the kitchen had closed behind them, but they had yet to say anything. After a few seconds, Phil grew impatient, so he cleared his throat loud enough to stir the two fourth graders out of their lovesick stupor. They blinked a few times before realizing that they were just staring at each other, and matching blushes painted the two kids' cheeks as they averted their eyes.

"Heh heh heh," Phil laughed, his gaze shifting between Arnold and Helga. "How was school today, Shortman?"

Arnold swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It was good, Grandpa. This is, uh." Arnold averted his eyes, knowing full well what his grandfather was going to rant on about, "Well, you know Helga."

Phil chuckled, turning his attention to the blushing girl, obstinately avoiding his eyes. "Yes, your little friend with the pink bow and the one eyebrow!"

Despite her embarrassment at having been caught staring at Arnold by none other than Arnold's grandfather, the description of herself caught Helga's attention and she looked down at her attire. _Out of everything Arnold's ever told his Grandpa about me, (which is probably quite a bit, considering I'm his personal tormentor), all he ever retained was that I had a unibrow and a pink bow? _She felt a growl try to rumble it's way up her throat but she swallowed it behind a scowl, and she folded her arms over her chest, directing an unimpressed stare at the old man. "Hey, I'm much more than a bow and an eyebrow, bucko!"

Arnold shot her a lock, but Phil just chuckled. "Of course, Helga, my apologies. So, what brings you here today?" He shifted his gaze to his grandson. "I assume your little girlfriend didn't come over just to correct me, although I'm guessing she took quite a lot of pleasure from it, judging by the smirk on her face."

Helga's smirk fell when Phil pointed it out. Her emotions, (at least the ones she presented to other people on a regular basis), always seemed more genuine when people didn't draw attention to them. She always thought it best for people to just accept it, and that's one of the reasons why she like Arnold so much, even though he seemed to question her motives at every turn. It was at that moment that Phil's question registered in Helga's mind and she realized that she had no idea how to answer it. "Oh, uh," Helga looked to Arnold, a plea in her eyes for him to answer for her. "Why _am _I here?"

He blushed, chancing a glance into her deep blue eyes. "To eat cookies?"

Helga's blush returned softly, and she averted her eyes, folding her arms behind her back. "Oh. Okay." If Arnold wasn't so wrapped up trying to control his flustered state, he would've noticed her lack of insults or witty comebacks, but he was desperately focused on trying to deflate the blush on his cheeks.

There was a heavy silence for a moment, and even Phil respected the obvious embarrassment on both kids' faces. Oddly enough, it was Arnold to break the tension when he asked his grandfather, "So, uh, Grandpa? Are there any of Grandma's cookies left?"

Phil's eyes lit up at the question and he hurried to a cabinet in the corner. "You bet your pants there are! Had to hide them from that _bum_ Kokoschka," he spat that part out bitterly, "but I managed to set aside some for you. Oh, and it wasn't easy, too -" He rustled around in the cupboard for a moment, rambling on as if the two children were paying attention, when in reality, they were busy eyeing each other awkwardly.

"Aha!" Phil suddenly exclaimed, pulling a container full to the brim with small round cookies. "For the happy couple." He chuckled at their fiery red blushes. "And you should be thanking me, Shortman. If it wasn't for me, these would be _cockroach_ cookies, and, knowing Pookie, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Thanks, Grandpa." Arnold took the container in one hand and Helga's hand in the other and pulled her from the kitchen. He called over his shoulder, "Helga and I will just be upstairs!" After a pause, Arnold added through the kitchen door, "And, hey, Grandpa? If anybody comes over for me, tell them I'm not here!"

Phil chuckled and said, "You got it, Shortman," to which Arnold gave an offhanded utterance of appreciation. 

Helga allowed Arnold to pull her to the stairs, but she eyed him strangely as he blushed and avoided her gaze. "Uh, Football Head? What was that about?"

Arnold raised an innocent eyebrow at her. "What was what about?"

She rolled her eyes and put her free hand on her hip, stopping them at the top of the first landing. "The whole 'if anybody comes over for me, tell them I'm not here?' Do you have _any_ idea how suspicious that sounds? You're not planning on murdering me, are you?"

He laughed, and tugged more on her arm to get her moving again. "Not today, no. But, you know how I'm a terrible liar?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm well aware, and well acquainted."

Arnold continued, undeterred by her jab. "Well, I think I was sort of . . . conspicuous when I was talking with Gerald earlier, and I just thought that maybe he'd come over or something, just to see what I'm up to. And the fact that we're going to be on my roof is even better, because if he _does_ sneak past Grandpa, he'll just go home because I won't be in my room." He shot her a proud smirk. "See? I am good at this whole sneaking around thing. And to think you doubted me."

Helga rolled her eyes at him, but brought the conversation back to where it began. "Don't avoid what I'm sure you know I'm going to ask you. What exactly did you tell him? Should I be worried, relieved, amused, or furious?"

He let out a breath and looked at the purple carpet that they were following. "I'm not sure. Maybe a little bit of everything. I told him I was busy, but when he asked me what I was busy _with_, I panicked. I said, uh . . ." his voice trailed off, and he averted his eyes, climbing up the final staircase before they made it to his attic bedroom.

"You said," she prompted in a patronizing voice, releasing his hand so that they could ascend his stairs one at a time.

"I said I had an appointment. And when he asked me if what kind of appointment, I sorta . . . didn't answer him. He started to get impatient, so I finally told him that I had an appointment with a friend, that it was really important, and that I was going to be late. And then I ran away."

Helga blinked a few times before she started laughing. "Oh, real smooth, Arnoldo. Yes, I can see you're definitely 'good at this whole sneaking around thing.' I bow down to your skills and commend you on your quick-thinking and calm head in the middle of a crisis. Is _that_ why you were so out of breath when you got to my locker? You were escaping the evil clutches of your best friend?"

Arnold sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose for the second time that day. "Yes, Helga. That is why I was so out of breath when I met you by your locker." He frowned slightly at her. "But give me some credit here! It's the first time I'd ever lied to him! I'm new to this whole 'keeping secrets' thing. Do you blame me for panicking a little bit?"

Once Arnold closed his bedroom door behind her, Helga's eyes swept around briefly, before returning to his disgruntled gaze. "I guess not. All things considered, your goody-two-shoes self didn't do too bad. Now," she sauntered up to him, poking him on the chest with a suggestive smirk, "I think I hear your roof calling our names, Football Head. What do you say you and I answer it?"

The poor boy's face turned scarlet and he gulped at her sudden proximity. "Uh . . . whatever you say, Helga. Right this way." He led her to his bed, climbed up the ladder, and opened the skylight, holding it ajar for her to move through, too.

Once both children were standing side-by-side on the roof, (avoiding each other's eyes and wondering how exactly they should start the whole thing), a heavy silence fell over them. As previously stated, they knew that there weren't going to be any interruptions; they had all the time in the world, and that was more intimidating than either children were willing to admit.

To break the tension, Helga cleared her throat and said, "This is . . . you've got quite the view, Football Head." She spoke as if she'd never been on his roof before, and she momentarily mused on the irony of the whole thing. What with FTi, and all the times she'd had to camp out there to keep her secret, she realized that roofs were sort of her trademark location for passion. If Arnold noticed that, also, he didn't say anything. Not like she was expecting him to.

"Yeah, thanks. Sometimes at night, I like to lay outside and look at the sky." Helga glanced at him to see that he was already looking at her. "It can get pretty peaceful out here. Even if some of the only noises I can hear are buses and cars."

"Pretty peaceful, huh?" Helga said, taking a small step towards him, a predatory smirk on her face. "Does it ever get . . . hot up here?"

Noticing the familiar pattern of her speech, Arnold knew immediately how to proceed. "Not _too_ hot," he responded with a smirk, sliding closer to her, too. "At least, not _yet_."

Helga closed the space between them with a long stride, placing a hand on the side of his neck, stroking it softly. Her smirked widened as she felt his pulse underneath her fingertips pick up until it felt like his veins were about to burst through his skin. "Whatever you're going to do about that, it better happen soon, because it's obvious that you can't wait much longer."

Without answering, Arnold took both of Helga's shoulders in his hands and pushed her forwards until her back crashed up against the wooden shed by his skylight. Her eyes opened wide, and she let out a soft noise in surprise, which just made him grin victoriously. Her shoulders were so thin, so frail under his fingers, and it just reminded him of how many times she must've gone without lunch that slipped passed his radar. He felt that twinge of anger again, but the pigtailed girl's swirling blue eyes eased that frustration almost immediately, and his grin softened. He pressed his forehead against hers delicately, careful not to push too hard, and said smoothly, "This hot enough for you, Helga?"

To his surprise, Helga grinned right back at him, her eyes darkening in what appeared to be mischief. With a speed that Arnold didn't think she was capable of, she switched their positions, so that her hands were pushing Arnold's shoulders into the wooden planks of the shed on the roof. He blinked a few times at the rather fast alteration of their physical situation, and she laughed maniacally at him. "Not. Even. _Close_." Before he could even think, she pressed forward, their lips colliding in that passionate and heated way that Helga was so very known for. It was a kiss that Arnold was slowing coming to terms with. Over the past couple weeks, he had been so used to dominating Helga that he forgot just how dominating the Queen of Fourth Grade could really be.

_Oh_, Arnold thought in surprise, his eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. It didn't take long before his lips finally began to react. He had a difficult time forming coherent thoughts; as much as he liked being forceful, he had to say that there was a certain charm in letting Helga have the power.

After a few seconds, however, Arnold's passivity began to wear off, and he felt that familiar burning in the pit of his stomach that screamed for attention. Arnold's hands came up to Helga's upper arms, and, before she could react, he reversed their positions again, pressing his body firmly against hers. He separated their lips with a soft smacking noise, smirking smugly at the shocked, miffed, and oddly intrigued expression on the young girl's face. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, and her face was blushing brightly at the pressing proximity, and that made him shine with pride. "Oh, don't look so shocked. You can't say you didn't expect this." As soon as the words left his mouth, Arnold blinked, and not just because of what he said, but also, and especially, because of his tone of voice, (sultry, smooth, suave). It was so foreign and, at first, unwelcome. _Where did that come from?_ Doubt plagued his eyes, his smirk slipping, and he took a small step back, his grip on her loosening. He opened his mouth to apologize, but he only made out, "Helga, I'm sor-" before the rest of his words shriveled and died as he felt Helga suddenly seize the front of his sweater and reverse their position, pushing him up against the shed, as she had done before.

She smirked at the fact that she finally had the upper hand. "Lose the modesty, Head Boy," she said, roughly pressing their noses together, and lowering her voice. "It's not nearly as attractive as you think it is."

A part of Arnold was flustered and embarrassed that he had just been called attractive by a girl that he spent most of his life thinking hated him. He felt a blush spreading lightly across his cheeks and that small, small part of him wanted to escape from her so that he could breath normally. _Distance. I need distance_. But the fire in the blonde girl's eyes was contagious, and he felt that familiar smirk returning. He felt the heat return in his stomach. He felt the darkness return to his eyes. _Oh, forget it_, he thought as he seized her waist tightly and pulled her flush against him. "I'm not nearly as attractive when I'm modest, huh?" he asked lowly, leaning close to her face and allowing their breath to mix. "So tell me, Helga, when _am_ I most attractive?"

Helga sucked in a breath, bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart was racing to the point of near pain, and she blushed all over her body. She didn't know exactly what to make of this new side of Arnold that she had been introduced to. It was the side of Arnold that let his frustrations out on her lips in the middle of the hallway simply because she cut in line; it was the side of Arnold that defended her against the advances of a _third grader_ because he was insanely jealous that the kid kissed her hand; it was the side of Arnold that snuck his tongue into her mouth in a closet the week before. Just as Arnold had tried to walk away earlier, (before Helga pulled him back to her, which was an impulsive decision, and one the passive side of her was beginning to regret), she wanted pull back. But there was something strangely alluring about the spark in his eyes that plagued her closed eyelids, and the way his hands tensed on her waist the longer she took to answer. She cleared her throat, her eyes still closed, and managed out in a high-pitched voice,"Um..."

Suddenly, Helga felt something kick her feet out from under her, and, without explanation, and before she could do anything about it, she found herself lying on her back. She blinked a few times at this abrupt change to horizontal, when she realized that there was a hand underneath her head, and a boy with green eyes hovering above her, with a smirk on his face and mischief in his gaze. Her breath grew more uneven, and, in order to properly breath, she squeezed her eyes shut again, feeling the weight of the football-headed boy lean more firmly into her.

Arnold waited for a response. And then he waited longer for a response, but he figured that he flustered the poor girl too much to answer. He chuckled quietly, hoping she didn't hear his amusement, and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek against hers. When she moaned softly, he removed his hand from beneath her head, gently pushed aside some of her blonde hair, and whispered in her ear, "Open your eyes, Helga. There's nothing to be scared of."

Before she could contain it, Helga let out a little squeak of surprise, and she blushed further in embarrassment when Arnold leaned away to smirk at her. "Of--" She swallowed, cleared her throat and stared defiantly into his amused green eyes, determined that she not let him get the best of her. "Of _course_ there's nothing to be . . . to be _scared_ of. You're . . . you're _Football Head! _I could take you down in a second flat!"

"Of course, Helga G. Pataki, how could I forget?" He chuckled at the stubborn look in her eye. He gently took her hands that were pressed against her sides, and lifted them up by her head, pinning them with his own to the cobbled surface they were laying on. "I'm a do-gooder little shrimp, a wet blanket, a putz, a goody-two-shoes. Did I get that right?" She nodded sharply, which just caused him to chuckle again. "Good, glad we got that out of the way. Now, we were talking before about me being attractive?" He shook his head in amusement. "I must say, Helga, I was surprised to hear that. But if you're _that_ shy and embarrassed about telling me, why don't I go first." He pecked her lips briefly, giving her a small Eskimo kiss. "_I_ think _you're_ most attractive when you're blushing and shy. Although, I can't say I exactly _hated_ it when you pushed me up against the shed before." His eyes narrowed. "Your turn."

Helga felt her breath hitch in her throat. _He thinks . . . oh, crimeny, he thinks _I'm_ attractive?! _Her mind was reeling at this new discovery, but she forced herself to respond when she felt Arnold nuzzle their cheeks again. "Um . . . well . . ." Arnold had pulled back at her voice, a curious eyebrow raised and a small smile on his face. "There _is_ something charming about when you get all . . ." she felt her courage return at the blush that began to blossom on his cheeks, "When you get all _meek_ and _embarrassed_, Football Head." Helga narrowed her eyes. "Like right now. But I have to say, this new little bold streak of yours?" She leaned up, her hands still by her head, and pecked his lips in return. "You should probably continue before one, or probably both of us, explodes."

He grinned, but some of the mischief was gone and the innocent sincerity had returned. "Whatever you say, Helga." He released her hands, and moved his own hands down to her shoulders. He glanced at her lips briefly before saying in a very quiet voice, nearly a whisper, "Not that I don't really know the answer, but I just want to make sure. Can I kiss you?"

"Oh, Arnold," she cooed in return, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and giggled when he grinned all goofy at her. "Stop being a wet blanket and just _do_ it alr -"

Just as she suspected, he wasted no time in lunging down again and crashing their lips together. She had never been a part of something so raw, so intense, so passionate, and she had no idea where all of this 'Arnold takes control' came from. Just at the mere thought of his previous words that day made her blush, and yet melt even farther into his kiss:

_Well, here we are again, Helga . . ._

_So tell me, Helga. When _am_ I most attractive? . . ._

_Open your eyes, Helga. There's nothing to be scared of . . ._

_Don't look so shocked. You can't say you didn't expect this . . ._

I_ think _you're_ most attractive when you're blushing and shy . . ._

_Not that I don't know the answer, but I just want to make sure. Can I kiss you? _. . .

She moaned at the memories, tightening her grip on his neck and trying desperately to draw him closer to her. She had long passed the point of worrying about scaring him off. She knew for certain now that it would take a whole lot to make him run away from a situation like this. In fact, _he_ should've been worried about scaring _her_ off, because she knew that he thought she just liked him, perhaps not even that. She knew he thought that maybe the only reason she was on his roof right at that moment was because she was drawn to the feeling of their lips dancing in synchronicity, something neither children had experienced before, and certainly something they would never forget.

Slowly, Arnold tilted his head to the side, and Helga drew on past experiences to determine that this meant something very, _very_ good for the both of them...

She mirrored him, their noses nuzzling briefly, when, sure enough, a few seconds later, she felt something warm and wet sweep across her bottom lip. Her mouth opened, not from shock, but from the desire to feel their tongues battle each other. And it was a battle of dominance, something that both children struggled for. Helga was used to being the ruler of everything, ruling over Arnold especially, because he'd never really challenged her before. She always thought he was so passive, and she thought for sure that his passivity would continue over into their kissing. It was a shock to her that he, too, was dominating, and _wanted_ the power, and actively _sought_ victory over the other.

Arnold, too, was new to his sudden desire for control, and it still shocked him, ever since he realized that he actually _liked_ being in control in this way. Sure, he'd always felt comfortable in his knowledge of himself, and keeping his temper in check, and making sure his room was clean. But he had taken all that to a whole other level where Helga was concerned. It was called _preeminence_. He'd looked it up in the dictionary, because he was at first worried that what he was feeling was wrong. Really wrong. Wrong enough to the point of guilt. But then he remembered how Helga had responded, and he scrapped that almost as soon as he could name that brand new feeling.

Arnold briefly pulled away, much to Helga's confusion, and said in a low voice, his lips mere centimeters away from hers, "How am I doing?"

Helga let out a breath that was probably a laugh, and blinked a few times to try to clear the haze that skewed her vision. Her voice was in that soft coo that Arnold was being accustomed to, and that made him feel extremely proud. "Oh, _Arnold _. . ."

He chuckled, resting his forehead on hers. "I'll take that as good?"

She nodded vigorously, as words were beginning to fail her, and she leaned up to resume lip-to-lip contact, something that Arnold was all-too eager to comply with. His hands slid up from her shoulders, one reaching under her head and cupping the back of it, his other coming up to run through her pigtails. He sighed as she mewled in pleasure at the contact. For the first time, he was really appreciating how soft and silky her blonde hair really was. Both fourth graders were surprised at how different the kiss felt just because they were no longer vertical, and to try to reciprocate Arnold's sudden desire for change, Helga removed her arms from around his neck, instead shifted her hands to his sweater-clad chest. She massaged his skin over the thick fabric in time with the movements of their lips, and, for the first time in their little kissing adventure, Arnold let out a deep moan, which Helga felt pass to her lips. She shivered at the sensation, and, as soon as Arnold's moan came to an end, his tongue lurched forward, deeper into her mouth, and he moved more rapidly, with more determination than before. Helga smirked against his lips, pleased with the challenge, and, when she felt Arnold smirk back at her, she increased her resolve.

The battle for dominance was fierce and merciless. The unspoken prize was free bragging rights until their next heat of the moment and neither contestant was willing to submit. Not when the battle was so exciting, the prize so alluring, the taste of each other so intoxicating. No _way_ were the two fourth graders capable of responding to any other outside influences, save each other, which was why it was so startling for them to hear,

"Heh heh heh!"

The loud, intrusive chuckle interrupted both children and they broke a part immediately. Arnold scrambled off of the girl underneath him, a look of shock and almost horror crossing his face as he turned to face the old man standing by his skylight. Helga was just plain embarrassed, but she couldn't deny that, when she broke it down, getting caught was more than worth it. Phil had a sly smirk on his face, taking in the sight of his nine-year-old grandson kissing a girl he swore hated him. It really was quite amusing to think about. "You know, I was only kidding when I said she was your girlfriend, Shortman! Anyway, I guess you're probably wondering what I'm up here for, and I just figured I'd bring you two a couple glasses of milk, but you weren't in your bedroom. Figured you'd take her to the roof for some sight-seeing. You _do_ know the city's over there, don't you?" He pointed with his thumb in the opposite direction in which the two kids stood, where cars and the laughter of children could be heard. "But anyway, I'll let you get back to your little _play date_," he added with a wink. "And remember, Arnold, dinner's at six, so make sure you're finished by then."

As the chuckling faded into the distance, and Phil disappeared back into Arnold's room, Helga was propped up on her elbows, her mind reeling from the extremely passionate session that she had just participated in. She was elated, on cloud nine, feeling more in love with Arnold than she ever remembered being. She wanted to giggle and swoon, but she was too breathless, too out-of-it to even so much as sigh.

Arnold, on the other hand, pressed his back against the shed, letting his face fall into his hands as he suddenly began to remember every last thing he said to her. He remembered every last caress, every last touch, every last movement of his tongue; it washed over him like a waterfall, and he shuddered at those memories. He once again felt this deep guilt for having done that to someone, even though in the moment if felt right. Perfect, even. She responded so positively, she seemed to like it so much, but he wasn't used to being so _forceful_. It wasn't in his nature, he was _sure_ it wasn't, and it didn't matter how good it felt, for the both of them, it seemed. She liked it, sure, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he somehow took advantage of her, and the guilt was just eating at him. Arnold finally turned to look at the pigtailed girl beside him, only to see that she had a hand over her heart and a goofy smile on her face. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the sight and opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again when he realized he didn't have anything to say.

After what seemed like hours, Helga finally took a deep breath, and managed to switch her love struck grin into a content smile, and she turned to look at the football-headed boy beside her. She was about to make some sarcastic remark, but the frown on his face immediately caused her happiness to melt away. Doubts riddled her mind and her lips downturned in worry. "Uh, Arnold? Is everything okay?"

He shook his head and took a substantial step away from her, the frown deepening in what appeared to be remorse? Helga almost rolled her eyes at that, but she knew by the look of terror on his face that she should refrain from sarcasm. _Oh, for Pete's sake, what's he feeling guilty for _now_?_

"Helga." Even though that frown was still insistent on his lips, his voice wasn't angry or sad. It was cautious, like he was afraid she'd go off at any moment. "I am . . . so, _so_ sorry -"

Helga shook her head, putting her hands on her hips and scowling slightly. "No way, Football Head, I'm not accepting _any_ apologies until I know what the heck I'm supposed to be forgiving. So, spill, Head Boy. What's got you acting like a wet blanket all of a sudden?"

Arnold sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "Look, Helga, I just . . . I'm really sorry I lost control before. I'm really not like that! Well, you know I'm not like that, we've known each other for seven years, and all. But just . . . I'm really sorry!" He lifted his eyes, but it was only to stare somewhere between her shoes and her knees. "I didn't hurt you, or anything. Did I?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure I'm just fine." She paused thoughtfully. _He's going to feel all guilty for the rest of the time I'm here, isn't he? Well, I don't exactly have the patience for that right now. He just made at least six of my girlhood fantasies come true, and I'm not going to let him waste it by getting all goody-goody now_. "Did _I_ hurt _you_?"

He quirked his eyebrows, bringing his confused gaze to meet hers. "No, of course not -"

"Are you sure?" she asked sarcastically, putting a finger to her lips in thought. "But I distinctly remember pushing you up against the shed. Pretty hard, too. And besides, look at you now! You're all guilty and, _crimeny_, that seems to be all my fault!"

Arnold took a step towards her, taking one of her hands in his. "No, it's not your fault! It's mine! I told you, I got away from myself, but I didn't mean to!"

Helga swooned at the sudden feeling of his hand in hers. Even if it was such a minuscule display of affection, it was so innocent and so gentle, and she felt as if she'd been taking it for granted the whole time they'd been holding hands. She laced her fingers in his, squeezing slightly, and said, "Well, if you didn't mean to, then it's nobody's fault, and we can forget about this whole thing." At Arnold's suddenly downtrodden face, she giggled and said, "Minus the kissing, I guess. I wouldn't mind remembering _that_ for a _long_ time."

He finally let a smile cross his face, squeezing her hand and tugging lightly on her arm over to where they left the container of cookies. "Thanks, Helga. Me, too. Well, I've been thoroughly embarrassed, and went a full two-and-a-half hours in school waiting for, what did you call it before?" He smirked at her. "Special heat of the moment time?" Helga blushed, averting her eyes and following him like a loyal puppy. "You know, Helga, I'm never going to live this down. Until the day I die, Grandpa will forever remind me of the time he caught me kissing 'my little friend with the pink bow and the one eyebrow.'"

Helga shook her head, accepting the cookie that Arnold offered her. "Why on earth does he call me that? Is it really that hard to remember my name?" She scoffed, plopping down on the roof, crossing her legs Indian style, and dragging Arnold down with her. "Sheesh, first it's my Dad, and now it's your grandfather. Honestly, it's a miracle that the entire _world_ doesn't call me Olga. Might as well legally change it so that it'll finally make sense."

Having expected Arnold to laugh, Helga was surprised when he just frowned and said in a quiet voice, "Can I tell you something?"

"Uh, sure, I guess," she said warily, not enjoying the look of frustration currently passing across Arnold's face.

"This might surprise you a little bit, but I don't want you to look too far into it." He looked to her, and when she nodded in agreement, he continued. "I... well, I sorta... it's a pretty recent thing, and it's not like I... well, it's not like I really _plan_ on doing it, it just sorta..." He let out a breath. "I... well, I like... looking at you during lunch." He cringed waiting for her to explode at him, maybe slap him or yell at him or deny him any more heat of the moments in the future. Instead, though, she just blushed and smiled slightly, waiting for him to go on. He swallowed nervously. "And I've noticed that your mother doesn't pack your lunch very often. I mean, I was aware of it before, but I never really realized how much that must hurt you. Usually, you just roll your eyes and get school lunch, but today you just frowned and sat there. I sorta figured out that you didn't have any lunch money, and I didn't want you to go to class without eating lunch. During our last heat of the moment, you mentioned it, but then skimmed right over it, and it's hard to think straight when it's just us in confined places." He blushed brightly and cleared his throat, deciding to move past that subject and get to the point of the speech. "Anyway, that's the short version of why I got you lunch today. I just think it's so unfair that your parents treat you like that." He noticed the scowl appear on her face, so he quickly added, "I don't feel sorry for you, I promise. I just . . . well, I don't . . ." he swallowed, and looked down at their conjoined hands, "I don't _have _parents, and it makes me feel really sad when I see other kids with a mom and dad getting so disappointed when their parents . . . don't do what they're supposed to, I guess you could say." He squeezed her hand again, and smiled softly. "I just want you to know that I'm always here for you. No matter what. I've always been there for you."

Helga felt an immense warmth wash over her. His words, his voice, the fact that he was still holding her hand, the way he made her feel so _loved_ without making her feel like she was being pitied. "Oh, Arnold, that was--thank you." She looked up at him, any trace of crying now gone, and she leaned forward, pecking his lips briefly.

When she pulled back, Arnold had a goofy grin on his face. _Okay, she's not mad. I did good_. "You're welcome, Helga."

"Arnold, do you remember the first day of preschool?" She blurted out, seemingly out of nowhere. "I mean, at all?"

Arnold tilted his head, not questioning her sudden curiosity, but instead forcing his mind to reach as far back as it could. "Um." He did remember _some_ of it. He remembered becoming best friends with Gerald. They both liked Yo Ernest, and, as a three-year-old, that was enough to form a best friendship. He remembered his teacher, who told them all to call her Susan. She had dark hair and always wore long skirts. And he remembered meeting this little girl out in the rain, and she was so shy, so sad, but he couldn't remember who it was. "I remember parts of it. Why?"

"The first time we met, you put an umbrella over my head because I was all wet and muddy," she explained casually. She was about to go on, but Arnold interrupted with a shocked voice,

"That was _you_?"

Helga frowned. "Doi! Of course it was me! Pink pants, pink bow, blonde hair in pigtails, _one eyebrow?_ Gee, how many _other_ girls do you know who look like that?" She looked about ready to fold her arms across her chest in frustration, but she didn't want to let go of his hand.

Arnold blinked a few times, and shook his head. "Oh," was all he managed to say. _Helga . . . being shy and nice? Well, considering what her and I have been doing lately, I guess it's not exactly unheard of, but all the way back then? She's been a bully since I can remember! How come I didn't know it was her?_

She rolled her eyes at his clear astonishment. "Anyway, that's not what I wanted to say. When it was snack time, we each got a couple of crackers on a plate, and Harold stole them from me, because he's been a greedy fat boy since the beginning," (Arnold frowned slightly at those words, but let her continue without chastising her), "and you noticed, and you came to my table and gave me yours." She sighed. "Do you remember that at all?"

He shook his head. "Not really. My memories from back then are a little hazy."

Helga averted her eyes shyly, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. "The whole reason I initiated this whole after-school heat of the moment was because what you did for me today reminded me of what you did for me in preschool. Back then, it really meant a lot to me, and it still means a lot to me. So." she swallowed and brought her eyes up to meet his. "Thanks."

Arnold was very confused. He'd done nice things for Helga since he could remember, (and clearly since she could remember, too). He'd always really liked her, despite the way she treated him, but she'd never really thanked him for those little things he did. In saying that, he wasn't used to receiving this level of gratitude from her, and it wasn't _unnerving_, per se, but it definitely was surreal. He smiled softly at her and nodded. "You're welcome, Helga."

The two fell silent, their hand still joined, and they stared over the edge of the roof as the city passed by below. Both children were thinking two very separate things.

_Maybe I should ask her to stay for dinner. We're just having such a good time, and I rarely ever get to see her like this. I don't really want her to leave yet, and I bet she doesn't want to leave, either._

_Should I ask him? I mean . . . should I ask him? It's sort of a . . . well, it would complicate things. Maybe I should just leave well enough alone. I mean, he's fine with everything as it is, I think, or else he would have said something. Mr. Goody-two-shoes, always leaving his heart on his sleeve for everybody to see it. If he's starting to like me like me, he would've said something by now. Right? And if I ask him, he might get weirded out and decide that this whole 'heat of the moment' thing isn't working out, and then I'll never get to kiss the boy ever again! Maybe I should just take whatever we have as it is, and leave the ball in his court. But I can't do that! Even though this is kinda a dream come true, everything's too unstable, and if I'm going to be weird kissing buddies with Football Head, I need to know exactly what's going on!_

Finally deciding, Helga broke the silence with a soft, "Arnold?"

He looked over at her, putting his glass of milk down, and gave her his full attention. "Yes, Helga?"

She paused again, her cheeks dusted a light pink, and an unsure, nervous smile on her face. "What are we, exactly?"

Arnold blinked at the question, tilting his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

At the boy's confusion, Helga began to regret her decision to voice that particular question. "Nothing, nothing at all." Faking surprise, she looked at her wrist, (_Come on, Helga old girl, how many times are you going to make that mistake: you don't _wear_ a watch!_), and exclaimed, "Wow! Look at the time!" She scrambled to her feet, her hand falling out of his, and she took a few shaky steps backwards, away from him, much to Arnold's further confusion. "I better be going! It's been fun, Football Head, we had a few laughs, a few . . . other things, but I should." She gulped, looking over her shoulder, and spotting the fire escape. She began to stumble backwards in the direction of her most immediate getaway, and continued rambling, "I should get going, you know, it's late, it's almost dinner, my parents don't know where I am. And, crimeny, we're in fourth grade, you know--school! I haven't even done my homework yet!" She looked away from Arnold's curious gaze; he had somehow made it to a standing position, but the poor boy was too surprised to really say anything. "And I bet it's my turn to do the dishes tonight, and, you never know, Olga may show up for a surprise visit, so I should." She swallowed heavily, before climbing over the edge, and made her way down the fire escape as fast as her legs would take her. With a quick wave, she concluded with a hasty,"'Bye!"

Before Arnold could really process what had just happened, Helga was bounding away from the building, turning the corner and sprinting back to her house as fast as she could.

He considered calling out for her to wait so that she would tell him exactly what was going through her mind, but she seemed pretty eager to get away from him, and he wanted to give her space. As much as he didn't want to do that, of course. He leaned his elbow on the side of the building, resting his chin in his palm in contemplation. He felt a sort of disappointment in his heart at her sudden departure. He knew that he was increasingly enjoying her company, and not just for their 'heat of the moment' activities. Sure, her skin was soft, and her infinite amount of passion was anything but off-putting, but even just listening to her speak, whether she be sarcastic or sincere, and he never expected he'd like it that much.

He felt this need to protect her, more than he'd ever wanted to protect anything. (Although he _was_ aware that Helga G. Pataki could take pretty much anybody in a fight, perhaps even Wolfgang if she was angry enough, and win.) Every time he thought about her parents, though, he felt this bitter hatred inside. It was something he wasn't used to feeling. He hated them for neglecting her, he hated them for making her feel like she needed to be someone else, and he hated them for making her feel so bitter towards the world. He'd never hated anybody; not even his arch nemesis Rex evoked an emotion so dark as hatred, but sitting in that cafeteria, watching her be so sad that her mother had forgotten her? Watching her sit on his roof, telling him about how her father didn't even bother to call her by the right name? It made him want to hold her and force the pain away.

And it wasn't just hatred for her parents that felt so new. He'd slowly come to terms with the fact that he could get quite jealous when thinking about her with other boys. He wasn't exactly a _stranger _to jealously, of course; back when he wanted to win Lila back from Arnie, he felt that burning in his chest then, but it was nothing compared to the complete and utter animosity he felt towards that small third grader two weeks before. He hated the jealous part of himself, but he couldn't ignore it's existence. Why it seemed so intense when another boy showed romantic feelings toward Helga G. Pataki, he had yet to figure out.

And she mentioned earlier that the little girl he shared an umbrella with when he was three was her. That one threw him for a loop, but it made so much sense to him. She was so shy and nice, and when Helga was nothing but rude and nasty to him on a regular basis, the contradictory personalities seemed to drastic to belong to the same person. Now, however, he could just kick himself for not making the connection. Pink, blonde, bow. That was what Helga looked like. Now, of course, he was aware that Helga's eyes were ocean blue, and her lips were pink and plump, and she had a slight over-bite, but he wouldn't have her any other way. He'd protected her back then, and that same desire had returned, almost as if it had never left.

Perhaps one of his favorite things about her was how smart she was. No matter how much she wanted to skirt around the subject, she was one of the smartest people he knew. He knew that she had the highest aptitude test scores that the school had ever seen, (at least since her older sister), and, even though Helga liked to distance herself from Olga as much as possible, she couldn't deny that she was just as smart, if not smarter. Arnold had only ever met Olga a handful of times in his life, (and most of them had been in an academic setting), but she always seemed to be walking on air. Like she was never really where she was because she had surrounded herself in this dream land unattainable by anyone else. Arnold was a dreamer and an optimist, sure, but he knew when it was time to return to earth. He knew when it was time to be serious, and when it was inappropriate to escape to a fantasy. Olga hadn't learned that yet, and that was what she lacked. It was a characteristic necessary for success, and one that Helga most definitely had, along with her astonishing intelligence.

He really admired her a lot.

And she was funny, that much he knew. Really, really funny. One of the funniest people he'd ever met. Even though her cynical sense of humor used to throw him off, (he was accustomed to Lila's innocent farm jokes), he'd been warming up to it. Fast, too. Her calling him Football Head didn't really bother him that much anymore, either. She was playful when she said it, almost like she was flirting with him, and he did not mind _that_ at _all_. Her aggressive side wasn't intimidating anymore, her anger almost funny to him. Perhaps that was because he could feel himself getting more aggressive with her, too.

He never thought in a million years that he'd ever kiss a girl with his tongue. He knew that that's what adults did sometimes, but he just always thought that that was too disgusting. Tongues, he always thought, were for licking envelopes, licking ice cream cones, and rolling one's 'r's. They belonged in one's own mouth. But, with Helga, it wasn't so bad. It was really quite _good_, actually. It made his spine tingle and heart flutter, and his lips would take on a life of their own.

At the thought of lips, Arnold ran a finger along his bottom one, the memory of her touch still very, very clear to him. He smiled, letting out a sigh and watching the city roll by as he had done mere minutes ago with her. Sure, it was lonelier without her by his side, but he had his daydream Helga with him. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it was close.


	6. The Baseball Game

The wind felt heavenly.

Arnold looked to his left and to his right, taking in the sight of the wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. They were relatively small, he thought, and reminded him slightly of a butterfly, but, instead of being patterned, they were covered with a bird's feather. They were blue, with light-red tips, and his feathers were extremely soft whenever they flapped against one of his hands. He smiled softly, turning forward to appreciate the breeze that washed over his cheeks and ruffled his hair. After a brief and peaceful moment of silence, he heard a squawking noise, and he turned to his right to see a flock of birds in v formation, flying along side him. He waved politely at them, and they all waved back.

He looked down, to see how high up he was, and he was amazed at how beautiful the whole scene was. He was flying over a forest, with a few small clearings where there were groups of people camping. He wanted to call out to them, to see what they were doing, who they were, and what their story was, but he stopped himself. There was something so beautiful about being away from other people, and just soaring through the clouds, and he didn't want to interrupt such great happiness.

Because he realized that he could, he leaned forward into a dive, curling around again like he'd gone through a loop-de-loop on a roller coaster, and he laughed. It was a strange feeling; as he was upside down, his stomach dropped slightly, but then felt light again when he was upright. He did it again and again, and he never felt dizzy.

Arnold had just come out of a loop when he heard a soft giggle coming from somewhere to his right. He turned his head to see who _else_ had wings, (he didn't know of many other people, if any, and he himself had just gotten them that day), and he was rather surprised to see who it was. Surprised, and slightly disappointed, which was something he didn't quite understand. If the Arnold from a month ago had been told that the presence of a giggling Lila Sawyer would make his stomach churn, not from pleasure, but from a strange heavy heartedness, he'd laugh and insist the messenger was crazy. After all, Lila was _perfect_, and very beautiful, and everybody knew it. To be allowed to hear her musical laughter was a privilege that not many people were granted, so Arnold should've been happy, right?

But for some reason, he had been hoping for that giggle to belong to someone else.

Lila was the picture of beauty, as always. She had long, elegant, beautiful wings, nary a feather out of place. Much like her standard attire, her wings were a soft green, and her auburn braids floated delicately behind her, dancing with the breeze. She had a bright smile on her face, and her pale skin seemed flawless. Her green and occasionally plaid dress fluttered around her in an almost Marilyn Monroe way, and her feet donned her green ballet flats. She reached out and took his hand, saying in a light voice, "Arnold, I'm ever so happy that you've finally learned to fly. But we _are_ going just oh-so fast. Do you think we could slow down?"

He hesitated, eyeing her oddly. _Why is Lila acting like she likes me likes me? I _know_ she doesn't, she's told me over and over again, and a _month_ after I stop like-liking her, she decides to like me like me again! What changed?_ Because she rejected his advances so often, he had learned to speak in tune with her, to even answer _for_ her by saying, "I'm ever so certain I've told you many times before, but I don't like you like you. I just like you." And not only was her sudden admiration for him surprising, but his desire to decline her request, (an innocent, simple request, and one that his past self would have wholeheartedly granted), was a feeling he hadn't anticipated. But seriously? He had _just_ learned to fly, like she said, and the wind felt so nice, and the view was amazing, and he wasn't ready to slow down yet. He glanced over at her again, and she flashed him her award-winning smile, which usually made him feel all fluttery inside, but this time, he found himself frowning at her. "But, Lila -"

"It'd be ever so romantic!" she exclaimed happily, squeezing his hand in hers.

Arnold's frown deepened, and he pulled his hand away. _Ever so romantic_? he thought, his eyebrows quirking in confusion and mild irritation. "But, Lila, I'm _finally_ flying. I've been waiting for this for _years_. Why would I want to slow down?"

Lila's smile dropped almost immediately after those words. "Well, I'm ever so certain I get oh so motion sick when I fly too fast."

He nodded in understanding, remembering how sensitive she was when they went to Dino Land. _Well, I'm not slowing down, so if she wants to spend time with me, she'll just have to keep up. _He offered her a kind smile. _But that doesn't mean I can't play nice._ "Everything'll be fine, I promise. Just like at Dino Land, remember? Everything was fine then, too. Now, come on! Let's race! Bet I can beat you to that cloud over there!" He pointed to a cloud not far from them in an attempt to compromise, and prepared to take off at lightening speed, when his actions were halted by Lila's suddenly cross voice saying,

"I'm ever so certain I said no, Arnold."

"Ah, put a sock in it, Little Miss Perfect."

Arnold's heart jolted at this new voice, and he whipped his body around to see none other than Helga G. Pataki, her arms folded over her chest and a smirk on her face. His eyes swept over her, his mouth falling open and his heart pounding away as he took in how pretty she looked. Her wings were beautiful, more beautiful than even Lila's, despite the fact that they were nowhere near perfect, or pristine, or well groomed. A few feathers were out of place, probably ruffled from flying too fast, her hair, (in it's signature pigtails), was windswept to the point of where even _Arnold_ knew it would be painful to brush, and her cheeks were rosy from exertion. The way her wings blossomed from her shoulder blades made her look like an angel, and Arnold's heart paused briefly to flutter at the very thought. He wanted to comment on the _color_ of her wings in particular: it was that familiar shade of pink, the same as her dress and bow, with a white trim along the edges. He loved that pink so very much. And it looked so good on her, too. It matched her sunshine blonde hair and her sky-blue eyes. Eyes that he could just stare into for hours, without ever missing the world around him.

Helga fluttered slowly over to where he was hovering midair, that smirk never leaving her face as she reached over, cupping his chin in her hand. He stared, unsure of where she was taking the situation, (Helga was unpredictable, and the last time she had held his face, something very, very nice happened), but she just clopped his mouth shut, destroying all other assumptions he had, and said humorously, "Put your tongue back in your mouth, _Arnoldo_. Who knows what kind of gross bugs hang out this high up." She released him, folding her arms over her chest again, and added, "Now, if you're finished your little stroll with Mary Sunshine, how about we actually have some _fun_."

And just like that, all thoughts of Lila had completely left his mind, and Arnold felt a grin spread across his face as he nodded eagerly. "What did you have in mind?"

She turned away from him and pointed downwards. "You see that water tower down there?" She looked to him and he nodded in response. "Last one there does the other person's homework for the rest of the week!"

Even though Arnold knew it was wrong, and that if he didn't do his own homework he wouldn't ever learn anything, he smirked back at her, anyway. "You're on."

"On the count of three," Helga said, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. "One."

Arnold mirrored her actions and said, "Two."

"Three, go!" Helga exclaimed, shooting forward like a bullet and leaving a bewildered Arnold behind. It took him only a second, but he finally came to his senses and raced after her, laughing at the idea of it all. _Flying in the sky with Helga G. Pataki--I must be dreaming!_

"Is that all you got, Football Head!" Helga heckled up from in front of him.

Arnold's wings beat faster at her taunt, the heart of the competition not even letting him answer her, save a loud, "You wish, Helga!" He was flying so fast, and the wind was roaring through his ears so loudly, and his eyes were watering at the incredible speed in which he found himself flying, and even his lips were being forced open, but he didn't stop. He couldn't let Helga win.

Helga clearly got impatient in waiting for him to respond to her smack-talk, but when she turned back to look at him, she realized that he was right beside her. He glanced at her, grinning, and slowly began to surpass her, much to his delight. He was a little disappointed, but mostly impressed, when he realized that as _he_ flew faster, _she_ flew faster, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get ahead of her. They were neck-in-neck, and probably would remain that way until the very end. They were only halfway there, and he already knew he wasn't going to beat her. But that meant _she _wasn't going to beat _him_, either. A tie's pretty good, right?

The water tower loomed closer and closer, and the two fourth graders kept glancing at each other out of the corners of their eyes, matching smirks on their faces, and short pants escaping their lips. She looked so pretty that way, Arnold thought, silent taunts waiting to leave her mouth, and her eyes full of mischievous glee, and her cheeks all rosy from going so fast. He felt his already-pounding heart skip of beat, but he couldn't get lost in her beauty, not until they reached the water tower. _Then_ he could revel in that fact that he was in the presence of such a rare and gorgeous creature. And _then_ he'd tell her all about how pretty he thought she was, until she giggled like she did on his roof. He might even get a kiss . . .

Finally, Helga and Arnold began to slow down to avoid colliding with the water tower completely, and as it neared, they reached a hand out in front of them.

"My arm's longer than yours, Football Head," Helga said, flashing him a grin.

"Yeah, but I'm faster than you!" he answered, returning her smile.

"Not a _chance_!"

They looked forward, and then skidded to a halt, hands clapping the metal harshly, and cringing at the uncomfortable reverberations. They turned to each other, realizing that they had hit at the same time, and Arnold could tell by the smile on her face that Helga didn't mind not winning. She actually seemed rather pleased at the outcome, which was saying quite a lot, because Arnold knew how competitive she was, and how difficult it is for a competitive person to admit defeat. (Even if defeat isn't really _defeat_.)

"Looks like we tied, Helga," he observed, glancing at their hands still clamped on the water tower.

"Looks like it," she answered nonchalantly, offering him a small shrug and an adoring smile. "But that doesn't mean I won't _cream_ you next time."

"Whatever you say, Helga," he answered, a chuckle escaping his lips. His eyes fell half-lidded, and he only realized that when he saw the light blush on her cheeks. _She's so pretty when she blushes,_ he thought with a lovesick sigh. After a moment of content and silent eye contact, he felt a slight burning in his chest, and his smile turned into a smirk. He flew a little closer to her, and he reached out with one hand to grasp her chin. Despite the fact that Arnold seemed to be able to charm Helga by doing whatever it was his body told him to, Gerald's confident voice whispered in his ear his age-old advice on how to impress women: "_Do the purr. __Chicks _dig_ the purr_." Arnold had tried that once, and it hadn't worked. But, then again, he'd used it on a grown woman who was already engaged to an equally grown man. Of _course_ that relationship wasn't going to work. But here he was with Helga G. Pataki, flushed with excitement with her pretty pink wings flapping gently, causing soft air to clash with his bare hands. His heart pounded delightfully as he said, "You fly astonishingly fast, my fair senorita." His hand shifted down to her shoulder, and he leaned even closer to her, the peak of their wings flapping gently against each others. He pressed their cheeks together, and, before Helga even had a chance to respond, he took a breath and purred gently into her ear.

She shuddered, and let out a breathy, "_Oh, Arnold _. . ." and that made him swell with pride as he leaned back to admire his handy work. She was blushing, oh yes, blushing quite a lot, and her lips were parted, her eyes wide open in surprise. He smirked at her as she just stared at him, her eyes gooey and soft and filled with something so _warm_.

He rested their foreheads together, his smirk never leaving his face as he proudly took in the effect he had on her. "Yes, Helga?"

"Oh, Arnold," she repeated in the soft, soft voice that he only remembered hearing once before: on the rooftop of FTi. "You are my soul, a testament of my girlhood fantasies, the manifestation of everlasting love . . ."

Arnold blushed and his heart began to race at her musings, but just let her continue as if it _didn't_ make his cardiovascular system go haywire.

"My lips feel so lonely whenever you and I are a part," she cooed softly, nuzzling her nose against his. "You are the only one, my darling . . . the only one who can make me feel whole again . . ."

A strange sensation went through Arnold's heart, and he knew that if he weren't suspended in the air by his powerful, (and reliable), wings, his legs would have given out. Before he even realized he was about to say something, the following words left his mouth: "Oh, Helga, I feel the same way." He spoke them without meaning to, without knowing how truthful they were, but he knew it felt right, especially when he saw the smile that lit up her face, and briefly sharpened the far-gone look that had been in her eyes.

Helga leaned forward, her eyes drifting shut, and Arnold giddily braced himself for a small kiss, (that would probably evolve into something much, much more), but before their lips could touch, a loud mechanical voice interrupted:

"_Hey, Arnold! Hey, Arnold! Hey, Arnold!_"

Arnold bolted upright, his eyes wide and his heart thumping a mile a minute in his chest. He removed the wire from his potato clock and stared at the wall in front of him for a few seconds, before letting his head fall into one of his hands as he closed his eyes. He knew already that the thought of Helga had made him feel sort of funny, but he definitely hadn't had a dream like _that_ before. It made him feel slightly uneasy. The fact that he so readily forgot about the girl that he knew he _should_ have a crush on, (but admittedly didn't), irked him. Like-liking Lila was almost _expected_ of him, from everybody, including Helga, and, for some strange reason, he felt like he was rebelling against the Arnold everybody thought they knew by realizing that he just didn't feel the same as he used to.

But that was because nobody but a certain blonde-haired terror knew about his recent . . . adventures. They didn't know that he'd gotten so mad at Helga for cutting in line during lunch, (which she did pretty much every day), that he'd almost yelled at her and, without warning, kissed her in the middle of the hallway, where anybody could've seen. They didn't know that he had literally _dragged_ his personal tormentor into a janitor's closet, pushed her up against the door, and shoved his lips onto hers. _Twice_, with slight variation of circumstance. They didn't know that he had pinned her underneath him on his roof and kissed her with his _tongue_. He felt like there was this whole other side of him that only Helga knew about, and it made him _some_what uncomfortable, but mostly he was just annoyed that he hadn't discovered it earlier.

Perhaps he had had that dream because Helga had ignored him the day before, and ever since their exploits on his rooftop. She hadn't shot a single spitball at him, she hadn't tripped him, she hadn't sprayed him at the water fountain, and she hadn't shoved him out of her way when she stomped down the hallway. The worst she had done was call him 'Football Head', and even _that_ didn't have much oomph to it. He had been worried about her, but as soon as he voiced his concerns to Gerald, and received only questions and a strange look, he dropped the subject.

Being Arnold, however, it still picked mercilessly at the back of his mind.

He had tried asking her about it, but all he got was his standard, "None of your _beeswax_, _Arnoldo_," so he decided he should just leave her alone. For the time being, at least, because her halfhearted defenses couldn't and didn't stop him from coming home from school, with thoughts of her dancing through his mind. And it was then that he realized that, after a dream like the one he'd just had, it was going to be an interesting Friday.

* * *

"Hey, Gerald," Arnold greeted, holding a fist and a thumb out for his best friend as they met at the bus stop. After they did the handshake, he asked, "How's it going?"

Gerald shrugged. "Pretty good, I guess." There was a pause in the conversation. "You remember how I was telling you that Chuck Norris would kick Bruce Lee's butt?"

Arnold laughed. "Gerald, that was two weeks ago when we talked about it, of course I remember."

The boy with the tall hair sighed. "I talked to my dad, and he . . . _agreed_ with you."

"See! I told you!" Arnold said victoriously. "Bruce Lee is a martial arts _genius_, and Chuck Norris is nothing but a schmuck with a reputation that puts him on this pedestal that he shouldn't be on. With a little roundhouse kick to the gut, Chuck Norris would be down for the count, no questions asked!"

Gerald gave Arnold a strange look. "Man, you confuse me," he simply said, shaking his head.

Arnold raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been acting weird lately and the fact that you just used the term 'roundhouse kick to the gut' just proves my point." At that moment, the bus pulled up to their stop, so they both stood up from the bench and made their way over to the doors. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're hanging out with Pataki."

"Helga wouldn't say roundhouse kick. She's more into wrestling, she'd probably say pile drive or something." After the words left his mouth, he blushed. _Way to go, Arnold_, the Helga part of his brain scolded. _Instead of denying, like you _should_ have done, you just stirred the pot! _Arnold glanced over at his best friend, who was eyeing him carefully, as if looking for signs of deceit. "I mean, uh . . . hanging out with Pataki?" he asked nervously. _If he knew about the heat of the moments, he would've brought it up yesterday_. Arnold attempted to comfort himself._ And how _could_ he know? I mean, it happened on my roof, and only Helga and I know about it. Well, and Grandpa, but I _doubt_ Grandpa would've told Gerald about that! No, no, he's just asking because I . . . well, I _have_ been paying Helga a lot of attention lately, more than usual, and Gerald's probably just concerned that Helga's going to pound me or something_. The bus doors closed behind them, and they made their way to their seat, about halfway down the bus.

"Yeah," Gerald confirmed, a note of impatience in his voice. "Helga G. Pataki? The meanest bully at PS 118, except for maybe Wolfgang or Ludwig? You remember her?"

Arnold frowned at him. _As if I could forget_. "Yes, I remember her, but it's just, why would I hang out with Helga?" he asked, hopefully convincingly. "We only spend time together if it's with the rest of the class, or if we're paired together for an assignment. Other than that, there's no reason to."

"I don't know, Arnold," Gerald said, clearly unconvinced. "You've always had this weird thing for Helga. Always concerned about her, and getting into her business without her ever asking for your help. I mean, every time you see her not yelling at someone you automatically think something's wrong."

Arnold had to admit, Gerald wasn't wrong in his assessment. Ever since he could remember, Arnold has been very . . . inclined to help Helga whenever she needed it. Of course, Arnold was like that with everyone, but Helga was different. Maybe it was because she never acted like something was wrong, so whenever she did, it likely meant that something was really wrong. Maybe it was because Helga was around Arnold so often, (even if it was just to annoy him), he couldn't help but have some sort of weird-ish soft spot for her. He had gotten so used to bumping into her all the time, that if she suddenly went away, or something between them had suddenly changed, (for the worse), it would worry him more than if she just kept shooting spitballs at him, and kept called him names, and kept targeting him in particular. 

Arnold was all for spontaneity. Sure, he liked normalcy, but if his life suddenly became average, he would probably lose his mind. But his relationship with Helga either had to stay the same always, or it had to evolve at a pace that both children agreed with. And he definitely agreed to their change in their relationship up until that point.

"It's never been this bad before. Something's gotta have changed. I just thought that maybe she was blackmailing you or something."

"_Blackmailing_ me?" Arnold asked, deadpanning. "Why would she blackmail me?"

"Because she's Helga G. Pataki," Gerald said with a shrug, as if his reason was reason enough. "That's what she does."

"Yeah, well, nothing's out of the ordinary, so you don't have to worry," Arnold reassured, averting his eyes to stare at anything other than his best friend, who he had just lied to. _I really wish Gerald and Helga got along better. Not that I want anybody to know, but it'd make everything so much easier if Gerald just accepted Helga for who she was. If Helga ever _shows_ people who she really is, behind the fist and the scowl_.

Right on cue, the bus came to a lurching stop, and through the open doors came a grumpy-looking Helga with a scowl on her face, and her hands balled into fists. She immediately made eye contact with Arnold, (both children blushed, but only the girl looked away, noticeably flustered), and she plopped down in the nearest empty seat. Arnold just stared at where his bully had disappeared to, only looking away when he received an elbow to the ribs from Gerald.

"Ow! What was that for?" he asked, sending a frown in his best friend's direction.

"See! This is what I mean! Whenever she enters a room, you drop off the face of the earth!" Gerald said. "Are you _sure_ nothing's going on?"

"Yes, Gerald," Arnold said, as patiently as he could, (although he really couldn't blame him for being so curious). "I'm sure nothing's going on." Before Gerald could respond, Arnold continued, "Did you see the new episode of Pop Daddy last night?"

The trick worked, and Gerald seemed to forget all about his previous concern, to Arnold's relief.

* * *

_Here she comes! She's walking through the door . . . she's looking at me! Is she smiling?! Oh, wait, okay, no, she's scowling. She's . . . hiding behind a cart of dirty dishes and . . . talking to herself? Alright, that's a little weird. Brainy's following her . . . and just . . . standing there _. . . Arnold cringed when Helga's hand suddenly came back and collided with Brainy's nose. _Okay, so she's backhand-punching Brainy in the face. She's making her way over to her table . . .__ Hey, Harold's laughing at her! She is _not_ a big, ugly bully with billy-goat ears and a caterpillar for an eyebrow! _Arnold's sudden indignation disappeared and he cringed again. _Okay, and __she's punching Harold in the stomach. Come on, Helga, stop hitting people, you know you could get a detention for doing that. Okay, she's finally sitting down . . . here we go, she's shaking her lunch box . . . _Arnold groaned, dropping his chin onto his palm. _And it's empty. Great. She looks so sad . . . wait! She's rolling her eyes, and standing up again_. Arnold sighed, feeling much more relieved than he had been before. _Good, good. She has lunch money; I don't have to get her anything --_

Arnold jumped as a loud, banging noise awoke him from his thoughts. He turned his attention to his right where his best friend was standing, his arms folded over his chest and a slight frown on his face. He had dropped the tray down loudly on the table so that he could get Arnold's attention, and he didn't look amused.

The football-headed boy raised an inquisitive eyebrow, pointedly ignoring the blush on his own cheeks. "What's wrong, Gerald?"

"Arnold, man, you've been boring holes into Helga G. Pataki since this morning. You _said_ nothing's going on, so I believe you. And I _know_ you don't like her, but can you please at least -"

"Gerald, I don't not like her! I _do_ like her!" Arnold insisted, looking absolutely exasperated at his best friend's constant accusations. It was only a few seconds after those words left Arnold's mouth when he realized that Gerald was just staring at him with surprised eyes. Arnold shook his head rapidly, his face turning beet red as he added, "Not like _that_! I mean, I don't _like her_ like her, I just -"

Arnold was interrupted when Gerald suddenly burst into laughter. He collapsed into his seat, his eyes squeezed shut and holding his stomach as it began to ache. Arnold just watched in confusion, unsure of what his best friend had found so darn funny. "Uh, Gerald?"

Gerald's laughter slowed and he wiped a tear from his eye. He set a steady gaze at the blushing and confused boy in front of him. "Man, I _know_ you don't like like Pataki," he said with a shake of his head and residual chuckles. "Talk about crazy. Last I checked, you still like-like Lila, right?"

Arnold looked around awkwardly. _If I tell him the truth, then he'll just think I stopped liking her because I like someone else, and even though that's _not_ true, I don't really want to explain to him why I stopped like liking Lila_. Finally, he just sighed deeply, closing his eyes and resting his wide head on his palm. "Yeah. I still like-like Lila."

"Of course you do." Gerald started chuckling a bit again. He tried to force it down when he saw Arnold's annoyed eyes on him. "I'm sorry for laughing, man, but it's just, _you_ like-liking _Helga G. Pataki_? You'd _never_ do that. Even _you're_ not that bold!"

Arnold sighed again, deeper this time, as his gaze settled on a scowling, pigtailed girl across the room. "Yeah," was all he said, his voice flat.

* * *

"OOF!"

"OW!"

The two fourth graders groaned as they sat up, rubbing the sides of their heads as they tried to process the fact that they were no longer vertical. Books had gone flying out of their hands, loose papers twittering to the floor and scattering all over the hallway. They both were pretty sure they knew who they'd run into, so, upon making eye contact, they really shouldn't have been all that surprised.

"Arnold!" _Oh, CRIMENY, I didn't want to run into him today . _. . 

"Helga!" _This is _not_ how I wanted to talk to her _. . .

They both blinked at each other as they realized that they'd said each other's names at the same time, in the same voice, with the same wide-eyed expression. They shook their heads simultaneously and added,

"I mean, uh -"

Helga frowned at him. "Would you quit talking over me so I can yell at you?"

Arnold blushed, rubbing his elbow nervously. "Oh, uh. Sure."

At the strange reply, Helga raised one side of her eyebrow, but shook her head, hastily gathering her belongings into a haphazardly formed pile. She climbed to her feet and gave him a rather indifferent look. "Nah, you seem to get the gist already." She put a finger up and counted off her generic insults for him to remember: "Just watch where you're going, geek bait; sheesh would 'ya quit running into me and find some other sap to obsess over; get a hobby that doesn't involve crashing into me every five seconds. Got it?"

He grinned up at her, amused by her response. "Whatever you say, Helga," he said, his eyes falling half-lidded. He watched, his amusement only growing, as she blushed under his gaze, and scanned her surroundings, as if to gauge how much damage control would be needed if anybody caught her flustered around the one boy she was supposed to hate more than anybody else in the whole world. In the end, she just shook her head rapidly, returning her attention back to him and saying in a sarcastic, superior voice,

"That's right, Head Boy, whatever _I_ say. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an important meeting to attend in my office." She fluffed one of her pigtails, drawing herself to her fullest height. "Not that it's any of _your_ business."

Arnold chuckled, finally realizing that he was still practically sprawled out on the floor, with his own books strewn around him. He picked them up quickly and climbed to his feet. "Your office, huh? Sure you don't need of my, um . . ." he put a finger to his chin in mock contemplation, "_assistance_? After all," he smirked at her, "wouldn't be the first time. And it certainly won't be the last."

Helga flushed scarlet, glancing around once again, only to see the same few second and third graders milling about. "Oh, just . . ." she put her nose in the air, and stormed passed him. "Just shut up, Football Head. And put your tongue back in your mouth!"

He turned around, watching with a lovesick, half-lidded gaze as she stomped her way down the hallway, around a corner, and out of sight.

* * *

School had just let out, it was a wonderful Friday afternoon, the sun was shining brightly in the sky, and it was perfect weather for a good 'ol baseball game at Gerald's Field. Mr. Simmons' fourth grade class had sprinted down the front steps of their elementary school, hurried home to grab their mitts, balls, and bats, and met up outside the Boarding House so they could all walk over together. They all talked amongst themselves, of plans for the weekend, who was going on vacation the moment summer finally arrived, and which ones out of the group were going to meet up at Slausen's after the game. They were essentially careless, as ten year olds often are, and the fact that summer was but a month away made all present stress seem irrelevant.

Nobody was happier than Hillwood's own Football Head. With a sigh, he let the sun bathe his skin in a way a warm shower never could. It was refreshing, and a wonderful reminder that late spring was his favorite time of year. Not too hot, not too cold, and it always felt like the nearly constant breeze curled around him as he walked. The team was preparing for a big game against the fifth graders, and they had two weeks to train before the big day, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about it. Not when the weather was so peaceful and comforting.

Spring was the season of love, the season of rebirth, the season of romance. The voices of the people around him faded into the distance, and he allowed himself to be swept away by his daydreams. He imagined himself suddenly returning to his dream from the night before, sprouting wings and lifting off from the harsh concrete to soar amongst the clouds. The wind blew his hair in all directions, ruffling his feathers and making his eyes water slightly, but he smiled wide at the sensation. He felt the silky air embracing his limbs, a mixture of both comforting warmth and soothing cool. He made a few loops just because he could, and he closed his eyes as the world rotated around him. He eventually opened his eyes and looked to his right and saw Helga, those pink wings just as beautiful as he remembered them being.

He blinked a few times as he heard the familiar voice a familiar young girl shouting,

"Alright, you bunch of wimps! Front and center!"

Despite the fact that the group of fourth graders absolutely despised Helga's forceful nature when it came to baseball, she _did_ have a winning streak, and nobody was willing to kick her off the team and face the inevitable annihilation by Wolfgang as a result. So they tolerated her; no one dared defy her, not completely. She was the girl with the iron fists, with a resolve of steel, and everybody listened to her. This explained why Arnold, Gerald, Harold, Stinky, Sid, and the rest of the fourth grade class immediately fell in line to listen to Helga's demands. Whether they listened out of fear or respect was up for debate, but Helga didn't care either way. As long as they did as she told them to.

Arnold may have been the unspoken leader, but ultimately, Helga was the one that demanded obedience. Arnold may have been the President of Mr. Simmons' class, but Helga was the army, the strength, the power. While Arnold was methodical in his means, Helga was boisterous and authoritative. Arnold admired that about her, and as she stood in front of the group of fourth graders, commanding attention, he felt his heart flutter. Although he was confident in his life strategies, he did have to admit that there were some qualities that he observed from her that he was jealous of. The fact that a single word from her mouth could make a kid listen; the way a lift of her fist could part a crowd; the way a scowl could intimidate even the most courageous of students. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if Wolfgang would falter at the sight of her anger. Arnold himself certainly wasn't a stranger to her rage, considering the six years she spent mercilessly torturing him.

But never mind that. He had forgiven her long ago, and instead focused on the wonderful present. Her beauty in that moment captivated him. He felt himself losing touch with his surroundings, and lovely daydreams of her giggling in his arms, and her running her fingers through his hair, and her blushing brightly beneath him as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, ran through his mind.

Helga folded her arms over her chest, unaware of Arnold's complete mental absence, and she decided that she more or less held the attention of every child in the near vicinity. She raised her voice so that it traveled all throughout the baseball field. "We have two weeks before our next match against the fifth graders, and with your sorry display of a baseball game last week, we're gonna have to step it up a notch."

"But we _won_, Pataki!" Gerald said, folding his arms over his chest. "What more do you want?"

She glared as the rest of the kids nodded and murmured that they agreed with the unimpressed boy. "Correction: we _barely_ won, Tall Hair Boy! It was the bottom of the ninth, we were tied, there was a man on first and second, and there were two outs! It's a good thing paste for brains over here," she shot a thumb in Arnold's direction, (who was still quite gone, to say the least), "has a unique talent of beaning anybody within fifty miles, or else we would've been demolished!"

Gerald rolled his eyes. "We wouldn't have been demolished even if they won by one. Quit being so dramatic."

"Um, earth to Geraldo!" she said, throwing her arms in the air. "We're _fourth_ graders! They're _fifth_ graders! Even if we win by one, they win by default, as unfair as that is. Now, are you gonna quit interrupting me, when I'm trying to whip you geek baits into shape so we can cream them come two weeks from now, or are you going to keep searching for meaningless technicalities that don't help anybody?"

The boy with the large hair looked like he was about to answer, but then visibly decided against it and just shook his head.

She shot him a rare, approving look. "Good. Now, as I was _saying_, there're no room for mistakes, so let's get to practicing. Pink Boy, you're pitcher. Geraldo's on first base; Nadine, you're second; and Football Head's shortstop." Due to the fact that she was used to the kids scurrying at her request, she was confused when all Arnold did was stand there, his posture slouched and a rather goofy grin where his usual contented smile used to be. To make matters even stranger, he was staring _right_ at her, that adorable half-lidded gaze that she so coveted spread clear across his face. Helga still felt awkward and wary around him, ever since her little slip-up on his roof two days before, but she had put aside her wariness to at least be capable of being around him without crumbling from embarrassment and nerves. In saying that, she was still madly in love with him, and the fact that he was looking at her like _that _. . . She very much wanted to swoon at the sight, but she forced down her love-sickness and scowled. "Hey! Head Boy! You listening to me?"

When Arnold didn't move, and his facial expression didn't falter, her scowl darkened, and she stomped over to him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Hey, Arnoldo! Pay. _Attention_!" On instinct, he leaned back slightly at her sudden proximity, blinking a few times as he slowly realized that he _wasn't_ on his roof, and there were other kids around him, and he _wasn't_ about to kiss the irritated girl in front of him. He just stared stupidly at her as she said, "You're on shortstop! Move it, Football Head!"

After a moment of silence, Arnold shook his head to clear it of his less-than-pure thoughts, a light blush painting his cheeks. "Right. Sorry, Helga."

"Humph. You should be. Now, get a move on, before we have to go to school Monday!" She folded her arms over her chest and turned away from him, missing the goofy smile he gave her.

* * *

Most of practice went by without a hitch. Helga yelled whenever somebody made a mistake; Arnold would chastise her; Harold would mutter, (without a hint of subtly), "_Madam Fortress Mommy_,"; Rhonda would fold her arms and give out a snooty, "Well I never,"; Lila, from the bench beside the scoreboard, would encourage everybody by saying that they could all get along if they would just put aside their differences; and, finally, Gerald would watch the entire scene play out from his position on first base with a shake of his head and an unimpressed, "Mmm mmm _mmm _. . ."

Long story short, everything was pretty standard.

Practice even ended the way it normally did: with a familiar, and yet still very irritating, outburst from none other than Curly, Hillwood's own twisted little freak.

It had been Arnold's turn up to bat, and he was desperately trying to ignore the fact that Helga was right beside him, spewing out the sarcasm that he always secretly found amusing. (It wasn't exactly a _secret_, though, that people thought Helga was funny, despite her rather _crude_ sense of humor, and this had been proven time and again. The thing was, nobody wanted to admit it.) He tried not to smile when she smirked in his direction; he tried not to blush when she ordered him to get his head out of the clouds for the millionth time that day; and he tried not to tease her back whenever she taunted him. It was _torture_ trying to hide the fact that he really, really liked being next to her, and that he really, really just wanted to rip that catcher's mask right off of her face and plant a big, fat, wet one right on her pretty pink lips...

But he knew he couldn't, and he knew he should probably stop thinking about it, lest he accidentally make the daydreams a reality. So, he shook his head, wound up the bat a few times, and faced Harold, who was up at the pitchers mound, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Hey, _Arnooold_," he sneered, tossing the ball up and catching it in his mitt.

The football headed boy just rolled his eyes, deciding to humor Harold's sorry excuse for good-natured heckling.

Harold, however, didn't appear to be finished quite yet. "Hey, look at me everyone! I'm _Arnooold_! I wear a stupid plaid skirt, and a stupid blue hat that's a million times too small for my head! Ah hah hah hah!" He doubled over in his own laughter, failing to notice that nobody else had found his rather mild insult to be anything remotely close to funny.

"Just throw the ball before I shrivel up and die, Pink Boy," Helga demanded, adjusting the mask over her face, and rolling her shoulders.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Harold grumbled, catching the ball and stomping the dirt around with the toe of his shoe. "_Madam Fortress Mommy_," he added quietly at the end. The slightly larger than normal boy rolled his shoulders back, and prepared to pitch his hilariously over-the-top pitch, when a sudden screeching halted his movements.

"CURLY! I SAID A _TEN FOOT MINIMUM_!"

"Come on, Rhonda baby, give daddy some sugar!" was the only response from the deranged, obsessive Curly.

Before anybody could realize what was happening, a terrified Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd came barreling towards home plate, glancing over her shoulder in panic at the bowl-haired boy that was following her. It had happened time and time again; Arnold would convince Rhonda that inviting Curly to play ball with them was fair, because who knows? Maybe he would leave her alone? And there was also strength in numbers; if they ever wanted to beat the fifth graders, (as much as Rhonda prissed herself up at school, she was a fourth grader at heart, and would never want to lose, especially to a _barbarian_ such as Wolfgang), they had to get as many team mates as possible. Every time Rhonda let herself be persuaded, she ended up having to sprint home, away from the clutches of the geek that was in love with her.

The abrupt chase had never happened, however, when both Arnold and Helga were on the batter's mound. And Rhonda had never cut so close to anybody before. And, of course, Arnold and Helga had never felt more tense around each other in their entire life, (except, perhaps, for the FTi incident), but when 'the Princess' and the 'twisted little freak' came bounding in Helga's direction, they ran just a tad too close. Helga, (who had raised herself to her feet at the sudden commotion), found herself about to fall. And hard, too. So, she grabbed the first thing she could reach.

Arnold's sweater.

Arnold came crashing down with her, landing almost painfully on top of her and he just barely caught himself before their heads had a chance to collide. The two lay there for a few seconds before Arnold's eyes flickered open and his cheeks heated up when he saw a pair of wide, frightened, blue eyes beneath him. The position they were in was pleasantly, and also uncomfortably, familiar, and he gulped. He wanted to get lost in a daydream, but he knew that if he indulged, he'd just end up leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, and feeling how delightfully her passion clashed with his. He swallowed heavily at the possibility, but managed to give her a shaky smile and said, "Hey, Helga."

Helga blinked at his address, stunned at his lack of action: she had expected him to scramble off of her, spewing out apologies and asking her to 'please not pound him.' That's what everybody else would've done. A blush crossed her cheeks at the sheepish look in his eyes, and she could tell exactly what he was thinking, and she'd be darned if she wasn't thinking the same thing. The fact that she was laying on grass, with dirt on her hands and knees, and a catcher's helmet pushed back on her head didn't seem as important anymore, not when Arnold was staring down at her so warmly, so nervously, so . . . so . . . Helga sighed softly and gave him a small smile. _Oh, Arnold _. . .

But the sounds of confused classmates interrupted the moment and Helga blinked out of her stupor. She panicked, especially because Arnold still didn't seem to notice his surroundings just yet, and she scowled up at him. "_Hey, Helga_?" she mocked sarcastically. "Is that the best you could come up with, Football Head? _Hey Helga_? Hate to break it to you, but small talk won't get you out a pounding! And do you think you could maybe, I don't know, _get off me_?"

Arnold blushed and wordlessly climbed to his feet, clearing his throat and pointedly ignoring the jeers of his classmates. He held a hand out for Helga to take so he could help lift her up, but she just scowled up at him, rising to her feet, and said, "I can get up by myself, Football Head. Oh, and, before I forget, _thanks_ for ramming me over!"

A frown disrupted the embarrassment, and he gave her a flat look. "_You're_ the one who pulled _me_ down, Helga."

She put her hands on her hips and leaned into his face. "I was _trying_ to stop myself from falling, because the _Princess_ and her twisted little _freak_ had to ruin a perfectly good baseball game on the nicest day of the year so far! It was _your_ clumsy butt that made us both fall over!"

Arnold matched her posture, his hands on his hips as he leaned closer to her. "Oh, _I'm_ the clumsy one? _You're_ the one who was falling over in the first place!"

Helga furrowed her eyebrow in anger. "Hello?! They were _inches_ away from me; there was no _way_ I would've been able to dodge them without falling over! And to add to that, where were _you_, Mr. Bruce Lee? _Sheesh_, and I thought you having a black belt would actually come in _handy_, besides you just karate chopping anything within a three-foot radius -"

"Hey, that was a long time ago!" he chastised, putting a finger in her face, which she immediately swatted away. "And even though I _do_ have a black belt . . . well, it wasn't like I had a lot of time to think! I was actually about to _help_ you, but you just _had_ to grab onto my sweater -"

"Are you saying this is _my_ fault -"

"Well, I'm definitely saying it's not _mine_ -"

Phoebe rushed over to Gerald's side, a hand over her mouth as she watched the two wage an all-out shouting war at each other. They were getting closer and closer to each other, their faces flushed with the adrenaline of their fight, and their eyes narrowed with the heat and passion of their impromptu and rather unnecessary argument. The young Asian girl whispered to her boyfriend, "Oh, my. Do you think they'll be alright?"

Gerald wrapped an arm around the thin girl's shoulders as he surveyed the extremely interesting sight before him. "Hard to say. All I know, is my man Arnold is a goner." His eyes were already trained on the dispute before him, but his ears focused in on the heated conversation as the two children argued, and they were so close, they probably could've counted each other's pores.

"I do _not_ start every fight we have, Helga, I'm always trying to be _nice_ to you -"

"Well, maybe I just don't take kindly to do-gooder shrimps always weaseling their way into my personal business -"

"What does that have to do with _anything_ that just happened-"

"It's got _nothing_ to do with anything that just happened, but since we're yelling at each other, I figured I'd bring it up -"

Phoebe watched the two shouting, her eyes flicking back and forth as if the fight were the most interesting tennis match she'd ever watched. _Oh my, Helga, you've really pushed him over the edge this time_. "Gerald, should we stop them?"

Gerald shook his head at her question, and immediately answered, "Definitely not. You know, this is the _first_ time Arnold's ever stood up to her like this." Despite the fact that the two blondes were verbally attacking each other, an amused and rather proud chuckle escaped him. "Mmm mmm _mmm_ . . . 'bout time, too."

Just then, both Arnold and Helga fell silent. Their noses were pressed against each other, and their mutual gaze was in the form of a rather hostile glare, their narrowed eyes burned into the other. The moment was so tense, that nobody else had the desire to interrupt it, and the only noise that could be heard above the hushed silence was the car that was just strolling by.

Arnold's hands were in fists at his sides, and he was breathing heavily as he stared at the infuriating girl in front of him. _Why does she have to be so _obnoxious_ all the time! _I'm_ the one that gets dragged to the ground, and she's blaming _me_ for not saving her in time? How's that fair?! It _isn't_, that's how!_ He shivered slightly in his anger, but he tried his best to reign it in. He'd already yelled at her enough for one day, but, at the moment she wasn't exactly making it easy for him to _not_ yell at her.

_FOOTBALL HEAD! _Helga screamed in her mind, her hands balled into fists and her knees locked. _What the _heck_ do you think you're doing? You're never supposed to fight back! You're supposed to take what I dish out with an apology and a "whatever you say, Helga." That's just how it goes! _You're_ the goody-two-shoes who doesn't stand up to me, the _bully_. What the heck changed?_ Helga immediately blinked at her last thought, because she knew exactly what had changed since the last time they'd gotten into a heated argument. (None of which held a candle to the screaming match they had just participated in.) _Heat of the moment, _she thought, her face relaxing. _We should do that later. I wonder if he's thinking about it, too . _. .

Arnold was just staring at her suddenly-placid features, and his anger was dwindling. He had stared into her eyes before, on plenty of occasions, even before they started their heat of the moment sessions, but he'd never really appreciated just how beautiful they were. Well, actually he had, many times, but he'd never done it with their entire class watching before. With the reminder that the two weren't alone, and that this glare could easily lead to other less-than-appropriate behaviors, he took a few steps away from her. As he continued to stare at her, he groaned inwardly at following, involuntary thoughts that raced through his head. _I _really_ want to kiss her right now. I know our last heat of the moment was only two days ago, but today was just . . ._ He felt a warmth come over him, even though they just had a pretty loud, pretty vicious fight. _She's so passionate, even when she's fighting. A heat of the moment sounds really good right now. __I wonder if she's thinking about it, too _. . . He folded his arms over his chest, and tried to continue the fight so that he could discretely ask her about the one thing that was plaguing his mind.

"You're something else, you know that, Helga?" he said, trying to make his voice as rough and offensive as possible. "Nothing but a big fat _bully_ -"

"_Okay_!" Gerald interrupted, taking a few steps towards his best friend and attempting to pull him even further away from the shaking-with-anger girl in front of them. "Arnold, man, a fight's a fight, but she's still Helga G. Pataki -"

"Everything's _fine_, Gerald," he answered tightly, never taking his eyes off of Helga. "This whole argument is just the _heat of the moment_. Right, _Helga_?" _Please get the reference . . . please get the reference _. . . he thought desperately, (and a little apologetically), giving the pigtailed girl the most meaningful look he could muster. He was sending her a silent message, and inwardly begging that she receive it, and agree to it, without any hesitation.

His hopes were immediately soothed when the girl in question put her hands on her hips, a dark scowl still on her face, and said, "Yeah, your _darn right_ it is! Just like all the _other_ times Football Head's decided to grow a _spine_!" She raised one side of her eyebrow as way of telling him she understood, but otherwise gave no indication that could tip off any of the other classmates that the argument they were currently caught up in had developed into almost-violent flirting.

Arnold's eyes softened slightly, and he felt a smile quirking his lips upwards, but when Helga just glowered angrily at him, he reeled his satisfaction in and forced his mouth back into a scowl. His voice was still quiet, with that underlying frustration as he said, "Whatever you say, Helga."

Helga nodded, clearing her rather aching throat. "That's right, Football Head, whatever _I_ say," she said, faking her confident superiority. She glanced around at the audience they had, before settling her gaze on Arnold's decidedly half-lidded eyes, (though it was obvious he was trying to suppress it as much as possible). She continued as if she wasn't affected by his gaze. "And now _I_ say, that I'm going home. I've had _enough_ of you losers for one day." She walked towards the sidewalk, but not before seizing Arnold's sweater front, yanking him close to her, and whispering in his ear, "_I'll meet you by your stoop. Get away from these chuckleheads as fast as you can_." She dropped him again, rather unceremoniously, and stalked off.

Arnold watched her walk off, fighting a fond smile. His stomach was performing a very elaborate gymnastic routine, and his shoulders were relaxed and slightly slouched. He didn't realize it in the moment, but he would later be very gracious that nobody could see his face, or else he would've been accused of _like-liking_ the girl who'd just practically threatened his life. But when she disappeared around the corner, his thoughts had taken him _far_ away from Gerald's Field, into the clouds where he and his pigtailed tormentor were soaring away from all known civilization. He was offering sweet nothings to her, swelling in pride when she giggled in response, and he would give anything to stay there . . .

He was so lost in his daydreams, that he failed to notice the fact that the entire fourth grade class was silently staring at him as if he had two heads. After a few seconds, the silence seemed to push Gerald over the edge, and he clapped a hand on Arnold's shoulder. The football-headed boy jumped in surprise, and hesitantly turned his blushing face towards his best friend. "Arnold, man, what the heck was _that_? You just insulted the _owner_ of the _Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers_! You're lucky you're still breathing!"

Arnold shook his head, forcing his attention to focus on his best friend. "Uh . . . was she mad?" was all his distracted mind could come up with.

Gerald exchanged confused glances with the other fourth graders before turning back to the dazed boy under his arm. "Uh, _yeah_, Arnold, she was really, _really_ mad."

"Huh," Arnold said, shaking his head again and blinking a few times. "I didn't even notice."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Gerald said incredulously, "Man, Arnold, how did you _not_ notice the wrath of Helga G. Pataki?!"

"Distracted," was all Arnold offered as an explanation. "Look, Gerald, I should be getting home soon. It's my turn to make dinner."

"But it's only four o'clock," Stinky drawled in confusion, staring at his watch and scratching the top of his head.

Arnold took a few steps back, allowing Gerald's arm to fall off of his shoulders. "Yeah, well, tonight's gonna be special!" He chuckled uncomfortably, jogging over to one of the benches to pick up his math book. _Making dinner,_ he groaned while his back was still turned. _That was an even worse excuse than my 'secret appointment' that I had on Wednesday! Helga's gonna kill me if she ever hears about what I just said_! He faced his stunned classmates with a hopefully-convincing smile and added, "See you guys tomorrow!"

"But tomorrow's Saturday and we don't have practice," Harold's distant voice stated, and Arnold didn't even need to look to know that the poor boy was stumped.

As soon as he was out of sight, Arnold began to run.

* * *

Helga was sitting on the top step of Arnold's stoop, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hand as she watched the occasional car go by. She had only been there for a couple of minutes, but the time seemed to just drag on and on. _Stupid Football Head _better_ not leave me dangling or I will pound his head flat,_ she thought, giving him a telepathic warning, (or threat, but who was really keeping track), to not keep her waiting, or he would pay dearly -

And just as that thought concluded, the sound of heavy footsteps slapping pavement caught Helga's attention, and she lifted her head to see Arnold running at her, a textbook gripped tightly in his hand and a look of almost panic on his face. _Crimeny, what did he do now?_ she thought in slight amusement, slight worry, as he skidded to a halt in front of her. He laid the textbook on the first step and rested his hand on his knees, doubled over to catch his breath.

"Fire escape," he said simply, lifting his head to make eye contact with her.

Helga stood up, raising one side of her eyebrow and putting her hands on her hips. "One more time?" she asked, clearly unimpressed.

Arnold took a few more deep breaths before he deemed himself suitable enough for casual conversation, and he straightened up, meeting her gaze. "We should go up the fire escape," he offered simply, gesturing to the alleyway to his left. "If it's okay with you, I mean. There's nothing wrong with the front door, but I'd really like to avoid another run in with Grandpa. 

"Man, your face was priceless." Helga smirked at him, hopping down all the steps in one go and landing gracefully on her feet. (She smugly noted that Arnold gave her an impressed smile.) She took his hand and tugged him off of the sidewalk and into the shadows of the alleyway. "I would've _paid_ to listen in on the conversation after I left."

Arnold hummed thoughtfully, completely and pointedly ignoring her jab, before something of her statement struck him. _Wait, after she left, that's right_! He looked up at her with curiosity in his eyes. "That reminds me, why did you left so quickly?"

She blanched, her fingers loosening in his and she averted her eyes. "Quickly? Who left quickly? I don't know what you're talking about." She released his hand altogether, turning away and folding her arms over her chest. She whistled nonchalantly, trying to throw him off guard, but Arnold had already caught onto her peculiar behavior.

He smirked slightly at her skittish reaction to his question. _It's not too early to . . . you know . . . right? I mean, we're here, and it's just too easy with her sometimes_. With a sly step towards her, and a casual arm gripping her tight around the waist and pulling her tight against him, he chuckled at her and said, "Oh, I think you do, Helga. And I think you should tell me, before I start getting _really _curious."

Helga took a deep, calming breath, averting her eyes to avoid telling him through her window-like gaze. _How the heck do I get myself out of this one?_ she thought, with a huff. _He's a stubborn little thing, which I never would've guessed. I guess the only think I can do to distract him is to . . . distract him_. She smirked back at him, both at what her mischievous mind was cooking up, and at the fact that he thought he'd out-flirt her. _What a delusional Football Head I've got wrapped around my finger_. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him tight. "We're practically out in the open, Head Boy. Does that scare you?"

Arnold's smirk widened, and his eyes fell half-lidded at her sudden act of affection. "Not really. You?"

"Well," she said coyly, tightening her grip on him and leaning narrowing her eyes at him. _Do-gooder little shrimp actually fell for it_, she thought with an inward eye roll. "I can assure you, I'm _definitely _not scared right now. I am, however, awfully curious."

He smiled at her, rubbing circles into her back. "What about?"

Helga looked away from him, her eyes sweeping as far around the building as she could. Despite the fact that Vine St was strangely deserted for the time of day, she swallowed and said, "Before I ask you, let's maybe get _out_ of the public eye. If I get caught almost making out with a do-gooder shrimp like _you_, I'd have to skip town with a new identity and a fake mustache, and I've really been looking forward to fifth grade so I can throw next year's wimpy fourth graders into trash cans."

Arnold rolled his eyes playfully. "What, and you think _I'd_ be happy for everybody to find out that _I've_ been making out with my personal tormentor?" He shook his head definitively, a smirk still shadowing his features. "Not a chance. I'd never live it down."

She laughed, pulling away from him, gripping his hand in hers, and leading him to the fire escape. "Yeah, well, at least you'd be caught with someone that's actually _cool_, instead of some geeky football head that reads _Purdy Boy_ books."

He chuckled, shaking his head and not even bothering to fight off the smirk on his face. "I'm nine, Helga. Every nine year old boy reads _Purdy Boy_ books, and, for your information, that's where I've gotten a lot of my detective skills."

"Riiight, like you're just busting at the seams with _detective skills_, Football Head," Helga said with a roll of her eyes. Before Arnold could respond, she pointed at the top of the fire escape, taking her other hand from his grasp and putting it on her hip. "Now, enough flirting. I've got a question burning inside of me that you _are_ going to answer, but we need to be on the roof first. So. Be a good little Football Head and get climbing."

Without any resistance, Arnold immediately obeyed her command, but said as he hoisted himself up from the rather high-up first rung of the ladder, "You know, Helga, there _is_ a more polite way of asking."

He heard her scoff from below him. "I'm sure there is, _bucko_, but when have you ever known me to be _polite_?"

Arnold flashed a smirk at her as he reached the first landing. "Good point. But I figured that spending so much time with me is bound to rub off on you sooner or later."

"Let me guess," Helga said, planting two feet firmly on the landing and urging him to keep going with a shoo of her hands. "You're hoping for sooner?"

He tilted his head as a way of a shrug, (his arms were a bit preoccupied hoisting himself onto the final landing). "What can I say, I like it when you're nice. Not that I don't find your whole 'tough-girl' act amusing and all, but there's something about when you're blushing and shy that -"

"Okay, that's enough, Football Head!" Helga interrupted, her hands clenching into embarrassed fists at her sides when she made it beside him at the final landing. She heard him chuckling, but she averted her eyes and scowled as darkly as she could. "Crimeny, it's like your stupid football head _forgets_ that I could pound you, or something!"

"I'm not deeming that worthy of a response, Helga," Arnold called over his shoulder, gripping the top of final ladder that led to his roof.

"Like I was actually looking for your approval," was Helga immediate retort.

"Whether you were looking for it or not," Arnold responded, righting himself on the roof and holding a hand out for Helga to take with a soft smirk, "You're not getting it."

Helga eyed his hand for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she actually wanted his help getting to the roof, but she just shrugged. _Our lips are going to be touching in less than ten seconds, probably. No need to hold off on the physical contact_. She rolled her eyes in reply to his statement and said, gripping his hand tightly and letting him pull her up, "Gee, thanks." She tripped slightly over the top of the roof, and a heart attack later and she found herself nose-to-nose with her favorite Football Head. He just smirked at her and said,

"You're welcome."

She shook her head to clear it, pulling herself from his grasp and sidestepping away from him. "Follow me over here, Head Boy," she said, offering him a coy smirk and an alluring beckoning of one of her index fingers. "The furthest away from prying eyes the better."

Arnold grinned widely and giddily, wordlessly hurrying after her with a half-lidded, lovesick expression spread clear across his face. She had walked around the other side of the shed on the roof so that if Arnold's grandfather, or grandmother, or any of the boarders came to the roof for any reason, (from Arnold's room, or from the stairs), they would either completely miss Arnold and Helga's presence, or the two fourth graders would at least have some warning before they were interrupted.

When the children were sufficiently hidden, Helga turned around to face him directly. She didn't need Arnold's prompting about what she was so curious about, because she had been itching to ask him about since the moment it happened. "So . . . you were quite the _aggressive_ little Football Head today, weren't you?" she asked in a low voice, taking a step forward and dragging a finger from Arnold's navel to his collar.

Arnold chuckled warmly, seizing her hand that was still caressing him through his sweater and bringing it up to his lips, where he gave it a chaste kiss. "Only with you, Helga. Only with you."

"And," Helga responded, dragging out the vowel of the word, "what _else_ do you do only with me?"

A wide smirk darkened Arnold's face, and Helga shivered before the following words even left his mouth: "Would you like to find out?

Before Arnold had a chance to even so much as take a step towards Helga, she laid two firm hands on his chest and gently massaged his skin through two layers of clothing. Despite the rather thick barrier that prevented skin-on-skin contact, Helga could still feel the pounding, pounding, pounding of his tiny little heart. She smiled cheekily and said, "Not so fast, lover boy." Her smile turned to a predatory and suggestive smirk, and her hands traveled down to his stomach. Arnold shivered under her touch, his eyes widening slightly, before resuming their previous enamored expression. "There's something I've been thinking about these past couple days. I mean, it's almost summer. It's gonna get awfully hot out. Why, even today the sun is completely relentless. I mean, I'm in a dress! My arms and legs are free to feel the breeze. I can only _imagine_ how hot you must be, all cooped up in that heavy sweater of yours..."

Arnold's bold side was so prominent that he hardly blushed at the suggestive offer. Instead, he smiled slyly at her, resting his palms over hers. "I never thought, Helga G. Pataki, that I'd ever kiss a girl like I've been kissing you." His smirk grew wider, his green eyes gleaming. "And I never thought I'd even want my _tongue_ involved, either. But here I am, on a roof with my so-called _bully_, actually agreeing to take off my sweater. Because it's hot out, right? And if this is the heat of the moment, then it's only going to get hotter." His hands tensed over hers. "Wouldn't want me to get heatstroke, would we?"

Helga swallowed, having anticipated him being more nervous than he appeared to be. _He, uh . . . he's been really _bold_ lately, hasn't he?_ "Well, um . . . well, yeah, that'd be a real . . . a real _mood killer_."

He chuckled at her sudden falter in confidence, gently removing her hands from him. He tried not to laugh at her as confusion clouded her features, and said, "I thought I'd solve that little problem we just talked about. I'd ask you to do it, but sometimes it's hard getting it off my head. And also, your hands are shaking, and it'd take forever for you to get it right, and I figured, during all that time, one of us would . . . explode, I think was what you said last time?" He chuckled again, grasping the hem of his sweater and adding, "This'll only take a moment."

Helga gulped as she watched him partially undress in front of her. "Alright, I'll, uh . . . be waiting."

After a few tugs, Arnold's sweater popped off his head and he tossed it carelessly on the rooftop. He smirked at her, and decided to embarrass the poor girl further by slowly rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. "There we go," he said quietly, his voice low and soothing. "I'm glad you brought that up, Helga. The breeze _does_ feel nice." He reached out, seizing her hand and bringing her into a tight embrace. "Now that that's all sorted out. Shall we, Miss Pataki?"

She cleared her throat, masking how excited her body was, and grinned at him. She wrapped her arms around her neck and ran her fingers through his hair. "Lay one on me, Football Head."

He rested his forehead against hers, a sultry look crossing his eyes. "Don't mind if I do." He leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and he smirked when she responded the second they touched. It was like she read his mind and met his movements at the same pace, at every tilt of his head, every stroke of his hands on her waist. He mentally shook his head at the idea, but he wasn't so ready to dismiss their uncanny ability to read each other altogether.

Before Arnold had a chance to, Helga smirked against his lips and swept her tongue along his bottom lip. Arnold's entire body shuddered; he'd been so used to doing that to _her_, that he'd never even considered what it'd feel like in reverse. He let out a deep sigh through his nose and opened for her, meeting her tongue in the middle. As soon as they made contact, they both moaned deeply, having missed each other, despite the fact that it'd only been two days since they'd last met. Perhaps it was because of the rather abrupt ending to their previous heat of the moment; perhaps it was because Helga was so determined to avoid Arnold at all costs the second she ran away from his house; perhaps it was because Helga was all Arnold could think about, appearing in both his dreams and daydreams. Whatever the reason, they were both drinking each other in greedily, their lips moving against each others in rapid, passionate, occasionally jerky motions, all so perfectly in sync.

Arnold's tongue took a brief break from trying to dominate hers to just simply explore her mouth. They'd never actually tongue kissed just for the sake of tongue kissing before; they'd always made a competition about it, and while, sure, battling is fun and all, there's something to be said about the simple pleasure of being lost in someone. He swept his tongue along the inside of her cheek, sliding it up to the roof of her mouth and feeling the rippled pattern of her hard pallet. Helga let out a shaky moan, and she completely collapsed against Arnold's supporting body. He had to separate their lips sooner than he would've liked to; the girl in his arms was complete mush in his grasp, and he _had_ to let go of her mouth if he didn't want her to knock him over.

He tightened his grip on her when he realized that he was the only thing keeping her vertical, and chuckled at the dazed expression in her blue eyes. He was blushing slightly, but the bold streak inside of him was unceasing, and he couldn't come down from his high. "I take it that felt good?" he asked with an understanding smile.

Helga managed a nod, her smile wide and her eyes half-lidded.

"Would you like me to . . . do it again?" Arnold asked, leaning forward so that their breath mixed together.

The pigtailed girl just shook her head and said, her voice still wavering from the sudden, unexpected pleasure, "Uh-uh. _My_ turn." Before Arnold could even think about what she could possibly mean by that, his lips were suddenly attached to hers, the movements of her mouth demanding he open his jaws. He readily obliged, quickly overcoming his surprise at the abrupt act on Helga's part, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his eyelids fluttering shut, as soon as her tongue touched his.

Helga didn't waste any time. Every time Arnold tried to initiate a battle, she would teasingly scurry away, taking as long as her desires would allow to begin pleasuring him in that simple way that he'd been pleasuring her before. She caressed the roof of his mouth for a moment, before sweeping her tongue to the side to feel the insides of his cheek, reveling in how soft he was. The sensation was made all the more sweet when Arnold let out a deep groan, pushing his lips more firmly against hers and leaning her back so that he could tower over her, instead of having to balance precariously on the tips of his toes just to meet her mouth.

She almost squealed at the sudden change from vertical to very-nearly horizontal, her eyes flying open and meeting Arnold's amused, half-lidded eyes. He pulled back on principal, despite the too-short lip-lock and chuckled. "It's almost too easy with you," he said, voicing his thoughts from earlier, with a smirk.

Helga, feeling rather disgruntled by that observation, raised part of her eyebrow, her dazed look more sharpened and alert. "Is that a challenge, Head Boy?"

Arnold reinforced his grip on her, his hands flexing around her waist and on her shoulder. "It could be. If you're up for it," he answered nonchalantly.

The pigtailed girl smirked up at him, narrowing her eyes menacingly. "I'm _always_ up for a challenge," she answered back, a bit of a bite in her tone. "Especially a challenge from you... seeing as I could demolish you in a heart beat."

He chuckled, leaning her back up again so that they were at least closer to eye level. "Well, by all means," Arnold removed his hand from her shoulder and dragged a thumb along her bottom lip, smirking joyously at the slight shudder the movement caused. "Go ahead and _try_ to demolish me. See where that gets you."

Helga smirked, and, without warning, gave a hard shove forward, causing Arnold's back to collide with the shed. He uttered a small, "Whoa!" in surprise, but then turned all his attention to the girl in front of him, anxiously awaiting her next move. She slid towards him, laying her palms on his chest and leaning heavily into his body, offering him a suggestive smirk. She didn't say a word as slowly moved her hands from his shirt front, to his shoulders, down his arms to his wrists. She seized them and pinned his arms by his head swooping her her forward and attacking his mouth, pushing harder and deeper than she ever had before. Their teeth nearly clanked together, and their noses were pressed firmly against each other's cheeks as Helga tilted her head, but Arnold was trembling under her touch. With any other girl, (_any_ other girl), Arnold knew he'd recoil from a kiss like this. It was too hard, she was pressing to the point of near pain, and their tongues, (which had long since found each other), were writhing together in a most obscenely way. But with Helga, Arnold knew it was different. It felt . . . good. Arnold felt really, _really_ good...

Arnold moaned deeply, arching his head even closer towards her, completely allowing his sudden confinement. That was another thing he didn't ever think he'd like: he valued freedom, space, and a respect for one's personal bubble. When he was with a girl, he gave her space, he held her hand only if she let him, he stood a decent distance from her, while still trying to show her his interest in her. He supposed, upon later reflection, that that respect, while still respect, was also lined with a certain fear of, not only rejection, but also angering her. What if she didn't like his attention? What if she thought he was coming on too strong? His subconscious would never let him live it down. But pinning Helga's arms by her head, and getting pinned himself . . . Speaking words that he never thought would leave his lips, (that would normally make him cave in on himself from nerves and, in a sense, shame), and receiving flirts in return . . . It was all so overwhelming, and yet so addicting, and yet so surprising, he almost didn't know what to do with himself. All he knew was his body was tingling, and he felt like his heart was soaring through the clouds, so he did all he could think of doing.

He just kissed her back with everything he had. Everything in his heart, all the passion and devotion he could scrounge up from his nine-year-old self. And he was surprised by just how much he found.

Every flick of his tongue, everything twitch of Arnold's fingers on the back of her hand, (clearly wanting to be released from their prison), drove Helga absolutely crazy. The idea that Arnold liked kissing her so much was enough to send her to the loony bin, but the fact that he was meeting her passion eye-to-eye, and following along with her own love-induced movements, (often initiating his own), and touching her, caressing her in ways she didn't think Arnold was capable of, was leading her to the edge of passing out. She was losing herself; her consciousness was slipping away, and her body moved on autopilot, only accepting and reciprocating his actions without further mental analysis.

Arnold hesitantly separated their lips, but kept the distance so that their breath mixed, and he said quietly, "_Let go of my hands. Let me touch you_."

Helga just about melted on the spot, and her knees were threatening to give out underneath her. It was lucky that Arnold noticed her trembling hold on him, because he broke free, reversed their positions, and held himself close to her body. His hands found their way around her waist, his touch gentle but firm, and he pressed against her so that she couldn't fall over. "Relax, you don't have to worry about falling," he said softly, a smirk back on his face. "I'll catch you." Before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, less hostile as they were before, but not lacking in emotion. Arnold's breath hitched when Helga's arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pulling him closer.

Into the silence of the roof, (save the soft noises of their lips moving with each other), a voice spoke. "Arnold? You up here?"

Helga and Arnold separated, leaning back at the same time, the latter groaning in exasperation and disappointment at the interruption, and he rested his forehead against hers. Helga let out a breathy laugh, running her fingers through Arnold's hair. However unwelcome as Phil's sudden presence was, she was almost grateful for it because, although she still was wrapped in Arnold's arms, she was gaining a sense of her surroundings and was bringing herself back to the present. (It was a state of being that Helga _needed_ to be in, lest she accidentally monologue in front of him.)

"Can we just ignore him?" Arnold asked halfheartedly, stroking her upper arm down to her elbow and back again.

"Sorry, Football Head," she said, sneaking away from her position between him and the shed. "He's your grandfather and he'd worry if you suddenly went AWOL." She walked out from behind the shed into the open, where she put her hands on her hips and said, "We're over here, Phil."

Arnold dropped his head into his hands and sighed. He was embarrassed, sure, any boy would be, but at that point, he was just annoyed that they were _still_ being interrupted. It was always right in the middle of a ferocious battle, which was particularly frustrating because, after a solid month of sneaking around and _three official battles_, there was _still_ no determined victor. They still had plenty of time to declare a winner, but Arnold was beginning to feel impatient, which was a sensation he often tried to ignore. _We really need to find a better place to do this_, he mused. _Or I just need to talk to Grandpa about giving me a little _privacy_ when I'm up here_.

He was aroused from his thoughts when a familiar, amused voice called, "You alright back there, Shortman?"

Arnold took a deep breath and walked out from behind the shed, a slight frown on his face. Helga almost snorted, as he was obviously sulking, and he folded his arms over his chest as he said, "Yeah, I'm alright." His eyes drifted down and to the right, in the attempt to mask his annoyance, but both Phil and Helga knew him too well. Helga was rather flattered.

"Good. I just wanted to check on you," Phil answered a sly look on his face. He clearly noticed Arnold's lack of sweater, but he (fortunately for Arnold) decided not to mention it. "I didn't see you come in, so I figured you'd be up here. I didn't think you'd have a _lady friend_ with you."

Helga and Arnold had matching blushes and they both determinedly avoided the gaze of anybody else. "Grandpa," Arnold muttered under his breath, as way of scolding his grandfather for even thinking of voicing that. _This moment cannot possibly get any more embarrassing than it is right now_.

"Heh heh heh, I'm just pulling your leg, Shortman," the old man insisted with a wave of his hand. At Arnold's unimpressed frown, he held his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you two crazy kids alone." He turned around with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "Oh, to be young again," he added under his breath.

After the door to the shed closed behind Phil, there was a moment of silence, in which both children were unsure of what to say. The interruption had been just as abrupt as it was the last time, and equally, if not more, unwelcome.

It was Arnold who broke the silence, his voice quiet and soft as he said, "Would you like to watch the sky with me?" He gently reached out for grab her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

Helga blushed, both at the gesture and at the very sweet offer. _Oh, my romantic little Footb__all Head_! she squealed in her mind. _How sweet, how very much like your compassionate, day-dreamer heart_! Despite her thoughts, she actually found herself wanting to say no; after all, admitting that sky watching sounded appealing was like saying that she was nothing but a big softie, and, while she was sure that that was what Arnold already thought, she still had to maintain _some_ semblance of her previous reputation. Even if he didn't believe her. But at the same time, she didn't have the heart to say no. Not when he was looking at her with such warmth, his smile tender and his eyes half-lidded. "Okay," she stuttered, blushing heavily, and averting her eyes, lacing their fingers together.

Arnold beamed at her, tugging on her arm and guiding her to a sitting position. He gazed at her for a bit longer than he knew he should have, but he was just so very smitten with her in that moment that he couldn't bear to look away. _She really is pretty. Beautiful, even _. . .

Helga, feeling flustered and awkward under his unintentionally intense gaze, averted her eyes and laid down on her back, lifting her chin so that she could see as much of the sky as possible. She waited patiently, nervously, anxiously for Arnold to stop looking at her, and, after a solid minute, it seemed he finally awoke from his stupor and he laid down beside her.

The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, with only a few white clouds interrupting the never-ending solid color. Helga could feel the poet within her bubbling at the sight, and the feeling of Arnold's hand clasped in hers only made her inclinations worse. _Oh, Arnold, my love . . . These past few weeks have been heaven for me . . . Your desire for my lips, while not yet equal to my own passion, burning deep within my heart for you, makes my insides churn and soar with delight! How I long to tell you of my love for you . . . How much these many minutes mean to me . . . But, alas, I worry your physical attractive goes no more beyond that. Oh, Arnold, why can't I gather the courage to be honest with you? Why must I keep up with this charade that I hate you, even when my feelings are really quite the opposite! Oh, Arnold, the boy who puzzles my heart with thoughts of love and adoration! Arnold, the boy that gives me light in even my darkest hour! Arnold, the boy can stop my heart and send it racing, all at the same time! Oh, how I wish you felt the same for me as I feel for you . . . _Helga turned her head to look at him, a smile breaking across her face at the pensiveness in his eyes, and the quirk of his small lips, still slightly red from before. _He's so gorgeous, and right now, he's all mine _. . .

Arnold was not feeling as warm and gooey as Helga was. His thoughts weren't racing in quite the same way hers was. Instead, only one thought, repeated over and over until he got it right, was in his mind. _I don't like her like her. I _can't_ like her like her, so I _won't_ like her like her. But that doesn't mean I can't love-- no, _no, _not love, _like _kissing her . . . holding her . . . feeling her . . ._ He shook his head, realizing that his mind had strayed, yet again. _I don't like her like her. I _can't_ like her like her, so I _won't_ like her like her_.

"Hey, Arnold?" Helga's soft voice interrupted Arnold's redundant thoughts.

He turned his head over to look at her, only to see that she had already been looking at him. "Yes, Helga?"

There was a pause, and Arnold noticed with worry the slightly pained look about Helga's eyes. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she said, her voice still so soft, so vulnerable, "Do you really think I'm nothing but a big, fat bully?"

Arnold's heart clenched, and he sat up with a frown on his face. "No, of course not!" He sighed. "I just said that so that they'd really think our whole fight was in the heat of the moment." He gave her a reassuring smile and stroked his thumb absently on one of her knuckles. "After all, I couldn't just _ask_ you if you wanted to make out on my roof after the game. I figured that'd make people suspicious."

Helga playfully rolled her eyes and sat up, too. "Yeah, just a bit."

The two children gazed at each for longer than was probably necessary, both with a softness to their eyes and a tenderness in their smile. They were both distantly aware of the fact that their hands were still intertwined tightly, but neither child did anything to change that. In fact, they felt themselves leaning closer together, despite the fact that neither of them could remember telling their bodies to move. Before they realized it, they were nose-to-nose, and there was just the slightest moment of hesitation before they both closed to gap and softly pressed their lips together.

It was a far cry from their earlier kisses. Rather than passionate and demanding, this one was calm and sweet. It was not hard, their lips were not bruising, and they weren't breathless in the traditional sense. Their lips just barely ghosted each other; there were slight movements, slow and careful. Arnold lifted his free hand and gently placed it on Helga's cheek, his thumb feathering her cheek bone.

She moaned softly. It wasn't as desperate as it was when their tongues were intertwined, or when their bodies were colliding, or when one of them was pressed flush against a flat surface, but it was a moan riddled with simple pleasure. It was gentle, sweet, and when they parted, their lips hardly made a sound.

The two just stared at each other, unbelieving that the other even existed. Their thoughts were nearly exactly the same when they wrapped their arms around each other into a warm embrace.

_That was . . . incredible_.

After a few minutes of simply holding each other, of simply enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed against each other, Helga cleared her throat and untangled their limbs with a small frown. "It's getting late, Arnold. I've gotta get home for dinner before my parents start to worry. _If_ my parents start to worry."

"Oh." Arnold sighed sadly, standing up and extending a hand to her, helping her to her feet. "Yeah, that makes sense. Did you want me to walk you home?"

Helga was about to decline, but she really just wasn't ready to give up her time with Arnold, knowing that the next time she'd see him, she'd be forced to torture him to avoid suspicion from their other classmates. And she just wasn't up for it anymore. She was hiding her secret from _Arnold_, right? And, although he still didn't know that she loved him, they _had_ to be more than friends, even if Arnold wasn't aware of it, right? Enemies don't kiss like that, and neither do casual friends, the latter of which was the closet thing to dating they'd ever been before. So, no. Helga wasn't going to shout at him, or insult him. Not anymore, not today. She wasn't ready. "Yeah, that'd be." She offered him a smile. "That'd be okay."

Arnold returned her smile, and took her hand in his so he could escort her to the fire escape. He bowed slightly, gesturing for her to go before him, and said, "Um, ladies first."

The walk to Helga's house was fairly silent, and both children kept sneaking glances at each other out of the corners of their eyes. When Helga's stoop was in sight, they both felt very disappointed that her house wasn't farther away, but they knew their time together had to come to an end. It always had to come to an end.

Helga slowly walked up the steps and put her hand on the doorknob, turning it and about to walk inside, when Arnold's somewhat-desperate voice stopped her.

"Wait, Helga! I'll, uh," Arnold rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and stared at his feet. "See you Monday?"

Helga nodded slowly, pivoting her body to stare at his averted eyes. "Monday." _Darn it . . . I knew spending all this time with Football Head would ruin me! Only two days a part and I'm already falling a part! And he hasn't even left yet_!

"Yeah." _Maybe I should just ask her if she wants to hang out with me tomorrow. I mean, I don't really want to go home yet. I just know that I'll miss the sweet, passionate Helga, as soon as I leave, and I hate it when she has to throw spitballs at me so that nobody gets that we're . . . whatever it is that we are_. He weighed some of the consequences of asking in his head, and, before he could second guess himself, he looked up and said, "Helga, can I ask you something?"

Helga's heart picked up at the earnest look on his face, and she realized that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would either make or break her. It would either crush her heart or make her the happiest girl in existence. She cautiously nodded, trying to appear nonchalant, but secretly collapsing in on herself.

"I, uh." Arnold swallowed heavily, looking back down at his feet, finding himself unable to ask her while also staring into her beautiful blue eyes. "Well, I was just wondering if maybe we could -"

"_Hey, Olga, is that you?_"

Arnold, having been conditioned to random explosions of yelling, (his grandpa _really_ didn't get along with Mr. Kokoschka), was only slightly surprised at the sudden exclamation of Big Bob Pataki from further into the house. He watched Helga to see how she would respond; he had always been slightly worried about her and her home life, but that worry had grown exponentially over the past few weeks. He _hated_ seeing her sad, and at that very moment he was given the opportunity to watch how she handled the very thing that crushed her. He didn't know what he expected: tears, a frown, an apologetic smile, or just any sort of reaction at all that would indicate discomfort, but all she did was pinch the bridge between her nose and respond in a tight voice, "Yeah, Bob, it's me."

"_Get inside, would 'ya, you're letting all the air out_!"

Helga sighed roughly, folding her arms over her chest and saying, "I'll be right in, _Dad_." She shook her head and turned back to Arnold with a furrowed brow. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

The interruption brought Arnold back to his senses. Not only did he think that maybe asking her to hang out with him would seem a tad inappropriate after overhearing a personal and clearly troublesome interaction, but he also hadn't realized how much the question he had been preparing to ask sounded like a _date_ request. A date request just for Helga G. Pataki. The girl he'd been secretly meeting, (well, it was a secret that included his grandfather), for private make-out sessions. The girl who'd captured his attention and wouldn't leave his mind, day or night. The girl who was supposed to hate him.

And a _date_? With _Helga G. Pataki_? He just couldn't wrap his head around it. The idea was just so . . . weird. It was the only word that Arnold could pin to it. It sounded bad, to call a date with her weird, but Arnold knew that, even if they were to go on a date, (which they wouldn't ever because he didn't like her like her), it would be weird no matter what. Nothing about Helga was normal, and nothing about Arnold was normal, either. 

_But i's just _me_ going on a date with _Helga_? No way. There's no way she'd say yes_. He paused in his repetitive thoughts, before realizing what he was _actually_ thinking, and he corrected quickly, _I mean, there's no way I'd ask her_! He shook his head to illustrate his inner disdain. _A date?! Hah! I _don't_ want that. No way. Not with her_. As much as he wanted to believe that, his grandfather's words echoed in his mind:

_"I assume your little _girlfriend_ didn't come over just to correct me, although I'm guessing she took quite a lot of pleasure from it, judging by the smirk on her face._"

_"For the happy _couple_._"

Arnold's thoughts were racing at the notion. _Grandpa thinks she's my . . . my girlfriend?! But she's _not_! And I don't _want_ her to be! I _don't_! She's . . . special to me, sure, but girlfriend? Like-like? Couple?! _He gave another shake of his head, completely forgetting the fact that Helga was still standing, confused, on her stoop. _Grandpa's crazy. Helga's just a friend. A special friend_.

At this conclusive thought, Arnold looked up at the girl who was waiting for him to continue speaking. He opened his mouth to answer her, but her piercing blue eyes froze him in the middle of the act, and his heart rate picked up. A strange warmth came over him in that moment, and his cheeks heated up in something akin to embarrassment. Or nerves. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to calm down. In that moment, that casual moment, when she was just in her normal pink dress, her normal pink bow, and her normal pigtails, she just looked so beautiful.

All that was missing were two beautiful, arching wings, and that moment would've been perfect.

"Uh, Football Head?" Helga asked in a cautious, slow voice. "Are you okay?"

Arnold shook his head again, clearing his mind of his strange new thoughts. "Uh, yeah. Fine. Anyway, just, uh . . . thanks for letting me walk you home. I'll see you Monday!"

Helga nodded, still feeling confused at his erratic behavior. "See you Mon-MMM!"

Before Helga could finish her sentence, Arnold had hopped up the rest of the steps, grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulled her in for a chaste kiss. It was hard, passionate, and demanding, (like Helga was slowly realizing many of his were), and his lips were gone just as soon as they arrived. She blinked rapidly a few times, trying to bring herself back to the present, but by the time she'd collected herself enough to participate in conscious thought, Arnold was already off of her stoop, and waving at her.

"'Bye, Helga."

Helga swallowed heavily, waving dazedly back at him as he smiled at her and walked away down the sidewalk. There was a distinct skip in his step, and she would have noticed it more clearly had she been _thinking_ clearly at all. Though Helga had experienced received almost countless kisses from Arnold, (though Helga had a running tally in her mind), the farewell peck startled her. There was absolutely no warning; at least in the hallway, where Arnold had bestowed his first kiss to her, she at least had some idea of what was about to happen. Arnold had that peculiar look in his eye, and he had always had her pinned against the row of lockers, and they were nose to nose. On Helga's stoop, a final kiss was not something she anticipated. 

Helga swooned almost painfully, watching in the most lovesick stupor she'd ever found herself in as he turned the corner. After a few seconds, (and a prompting shout from Big Bob Pataki), Helga floated through the doorway, closing the door behind her and collapsing in a heap of bliss on the floor, narrowly missing smashing her head on the coat rack.

At that moment, Bob walked out of the kitchen, a Yahoo soda in his hand. He glanced down at his emotionally-inebriated daughter, his eyebrow setting and his eyes rolling as he said, "I'm not even gonna ask."


	7. Extracurricular Activities

"_Oh, Arnold _. . ."

"Hmm . . . yes, Helga?"

"You . . ." A quiet, satisfied moan. "Please, I . . . oh, _Arnold _. . ."

A low chuckle. "Wow, Ms. Beautiful Poetess is at a loss for words. I must be _really_ good at this."

Prolonged silence. The occasional moan, followed by another, deeper moan. The sound of lips smacking apart.

"Wh-whoa, Helga, just . . . _whoa _. . ."

"I-I guess I'm not so bad at this either, eh, Football Head?" An uncharacteristically, (and yet perfectly normal), giggle from our favorite pigtailed bully.

A shaky laugh. "'Good at this' doesn't even do it justice. You . . . you're just . . . you're really, _really_ good at this."

Helga reached up to run a hand through Arnold's hair, relishing in the lovesick smile that donned his face as he gazed down at her. She was laying on her back on the most comfortable bed she had ever felt in her life, and her beloved was laying beside her, propped up on one elbow as he hovered above her. The lights were dimmed romantically, a fireplace crackling in the corner, and she was wearing her 'Cecile' shirt and skirt. And she didn't care if Arnold had made the connection, because, if he did, he didn't seem to mind, and if he didn't, he still wasn't really complaining. The football head in question was in a nicely-tailored suit with a red tie, looking as dashing as ever, and his green eyes were filled with so much warmth as they never strayed from her face. He had a hand cupping her cheek, a thumb stroking her cheekbone, and Helga all but melted under his caring touch.

"If I'm really, really good at this, then you must be _Einstein_ at this," she answered, tugging at his locks and grinning happily when he chuckled, arching into her hand like a cat.

"Well, when you love someone, romance just . . . comes naturally, I guess," he said casually and adjusted his position so that he lay more comfortably.

Helga, on the other hand, was feeling anything _but_ casual. In fact, as soon as his words really resonated, she bolted upright, nearly knocking him over, and she stared at him, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Hold your horses, Football Head, did you just say you love me?"

Arnold chuckled, recovering from her sudden movement and sitting up, sliding closer to her to wrap his arms around her waist and draw her close to him. "What, are you deaf?" he asked teasingly, referencing her love confession and how completely shocked he had been. Had Helga been in her right mind, she probably would've rolled her eyes and said something clever, but the fact that her love, (that she had harbored for seven years), had suddenly been reciprocated, didn't leave her with enough mental functioning to respond as she normally would have.

"Not deaf . . . surprised . . . just a little denial . . . but not deaf," she answered shakily, not even bothering to try to escape his hold.

"There's nothing to be in denial about. I love you, Helga," he said resting his forehead against hers and staring deeply into her eyes. "So much my heart just about flies out of my chest whenever I so much as look at you. So much that my stomach flops over whenever you hold my hand. So much that right now, nothing except you and I exist; nothing outside of this room belongs to the same reality that you and I do. Your heart is a part of me, as much as my own is." He leaned forward and pecked her lips, before pulling back and smiling sweetly at her. In one swift motion, he wiped a tear from Helga's cheek, that she didn't even realize had escaped her eyes. The sincerity in his gaze, Helga found to be overwhelming, and the absurdity of his claim, Helga found to be too outlandish to trust. "Do you believe me?"

Helga laughed at the fact that he had pretty much just voiced her thoughts, but the sound that she choked out was watery; she couldn't back the emotion. "_No_," she answered with a slight shake of her head.

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" Arnold asked, his voice quiet as he shifted even closer to her, his eyes falling even more half-lidded as they drifted down to her lips. "Because I'm more than up for it." Before Helga could get a word out, she suddenly realized that Arnold was pushing her back down onto the bed, and as soon as her head had landed on the soft, soft mattress, he wasted no time in planting his lips firmly against hers.

"_Helga . . ._"

Arnold's hand trailed through her hair and their noses bumped together.

_"Helga . . . it's seven o'clock . . ._"

Arnold slipped his tongue passed her lips and tried to curl it around hers.

_"It's time to wake up . . ._"

Helga's eyes blinked open, and as she turned her head, she caught sight of her best friend leaning over her with her standard kind smile and her eyes too wide for the time for morning. The pigtailed girl's eyes snapped shut again, hoping to return to her dream, (but knowing that the joy had slipped away from her, with no hope of coming back), and she groaned, slapping a hand over her face. "Can't I just play hooky today?"

Phoebe giggled, straightening up and crossing to room to make her bed. "If I know you at all, I'm sure you're capable of it, but we're so close to the end of the school year, and, more significantly, the abundance of testing, that I'm afraid the consequences would be more dire than I'm sure you're anticipating."

Helga rolled her eyes, but sat up anyway, unzipping her sleeping bag and throwing off the top half. "Yeah, yeah. Dire consequences, bad decision-making, you're forcing me to go. That about right?"

"Yes, that's about right. Would you like some breakfast?"

The blonde-haired girl scowled slightly, glaring slightly at her best friend. "If I wanted to starve, I'd just go back to Bob and Miriam." Her voice was short and snappy, and Phoebe turned frightened, and very sad, eyes on her best friend. She was rather worried about her; ever since Helga showed up on her doorstep the afternoon before, a deep frown on her face and emotionless eyes, Phoebe had wanted to ask just what happened to damper her spirits so thoroughly. However, knowing Helga's tendency to deflect and defend, she had kept her questions to herself, instead ushering her in, giving her dinner, offering her a sleeping bag, and letting her sleep. It was all she could do to prove to Helga that she was cared for.

"Would you like me make you a lunch for school today?" Phoebe asked, her voice timid and slightly afraid of angering the girl further.

Helga sighed, recognizing the fear in Phoebe's voice and immediately feeling a slight pang of guilt for frightening her. "Sorry, Phoebes. Bad day. And, no, that's okay. You don't have to worry about it. I snagged an Abraham Lincoln from Miriam's purse before I came over yesterday."

Phoebe nodded dutifully, abandoning all plans of complying with Helga's request not to worry, and she figured that, while Helga was getting dressed, she'd check her kitchen for anything to make a lunch with. They fell into silence, and Phoebe dressed quickly, ran a comb through her short hair, and hurried from her bedroom to prepare her best friend some breakfast and lunch. She really didn't mind helping her best friend; Phoebe understood that Helga wasn't used to people caring for her, despite the fact that she clearly desired the connection, and Phoebe was just fine with alleviating the loneliness that she figured the poor bully must feel.

Helga joined her a few minutes later, her arms folded over her chest, but an apologetic look in her eyes. Phoebe wordlessly handed her a cereal bowl and a glass of orange juice, adjusting her glasses as she saw Helga take it immediately and scoop large portions into her mouth. Phoebe knew that Helga ate fast, and in large quantities, and she had only a theory as to why that was, but she had decided that her theory was sound. And it made her feel so very sad for her best friend, although, if she didn't want a black eye, she kept the observation to herself.

"We taking the bus today?" Helga asked, setting the bowl down after she had tilted it back to drain it of the milk.

"Not today," Phoebe answered, taking mouse-like bites from her piece of toast. "I asked Mother to drive me to school this morning."

"Huh," was all Helga said, chugging her orange juice in the attempt to disguise how clearly envious of such a close maternal relationship.

The two girls fell into silence again, and Helga waited patiently, (well, patient for Helga), for Phoebe to finish eating so that the two could fetch Mrs. Heyerdahl to take them to school.

* * *

Arnold walked, rather quickly, to the bus stop, an apple in one hand and his math book in the other. He had woken up late, (as he was riddled once more with dreams that he simultaneously wished would cease to plague him, and would never, ever stop), and all he had time to do was seize his breakfast on-the-go, and sprint out the door.

"Hey, Gerald," Arnold panted, collapsing on the bench beside his best friend.

Gerald raised an eyebrow at him, frowning slightly in concern. "Man, did you wake up late _again_?"

Arnold sighed, getting control enough of his breathing to take a bite of his apple. "Yeah," he said simply, nodding his head and quickly chewing the bit of apple in his mouth.

"Maybe you should see a doctor or something," Gerald commented, offhandedly. "It's not like you to sleep in late. Didn't you set your Arnold alarm or whatever? The potato with wires?" He chuckled, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest. "Only you, man."

Arnold grinned at the last part of his best friend's statement, but then remembered the cause of Gerald's inquiries. "Um," he said slowly, thinking back on the dream he'd had the night before. It _wasn't_ something he would've like to share with the boy in front of him. It wasn't something he'd like to share with _anybody_, actually. Not even Helga. _Especially_ not even Helga.

_The sun shone brighter than Arnold was sure it'd ever shone before. It was striking his face in a most pleasant way; not too hot that ensured a sunburn, but present enough to make him feel like he was floating. And floating did he certainly feel; he had lost his wings, which he found disappointing, but the view from the mountain he was standing on was beautiful enough to provide an easily-forgivable apology. He was _ _miles and miles above the valley below; the people not even visible from such a high altitude, and the cars and buses were smaller than ants compared to the trees and large rocks that surrounded him. A soft wind blew across his face, lightly ruffling his tufts of blonde hair, and he took a deep breath, taking in all the smells of pine and freshness that he could._

_There was a soft smile on his face. He couldn't contain his contentment at the sheer solitude and peacefulness of the scene._

_"Head in the clouds, Football Head?"_

_Arnold wasn't even surprised by the girl's presence; she had interrupted his moments of solitude often enough for him to expect it. He turned his head to look at her, his smile only growing as he met her beautiful blue eyes with his emerald irises. She had her arms folded over her chest, and she was wearing her standard pink dress with the pink bow, her hair tied up in pigtails. He walked over to her and uncrossed her arms, grasping one of her hands in his and lacing their fingers together. She smiled at him, completely allowing his dominating movements, and waited for him to speak to her. "Of course, Helga. Where else would it be?"_

_She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Well, I'll tell you where it _should_ be. Right in that oddly-shaped head of yours. You know, because in the _brain_ is where the _head _should be. Just ask pretty much anyone."_

_"Ha ha, you're so funny," he said with a playful grin, but, besides that bit of sarcasm, he otherwise pointedly ignored her jab, and nodded his head in the direction from which he'd come to greet her. "Wanna look at the view with me? It looks beautiful from up here."_

_She blushed warmly at the thought, but nodded silently, following him as he tugged on her arm and walked her to the center of the clearing, at the very peak of the mountain. They both sat down beside each other, legs crossed Indian style, and leaned their shoulders together and rested the sides of the heads against each others. Arnold felt very peaceful in that moment, sitting with the girl he'd come to be extremely fond of, and enjoying the tranquil silence._

_They sat there for a few minutes, before Helga's voice interrupted Arnold's mindless thoughts. "You know, this view is great and all, and I'm sure your goody-two-shoes, tree-hugger self is probably having a field day staring at it, but I have a innocent suggestion that I'd like you to consider."_

_"What's that?" he asked, lifting his head from hers, and turning his eyes onto her smirking face._

_"W__anna make out?" she asked with a giggle, putting a hand to his cheek and shifting herself closer to him. While Arnold was momentarily speechless, her eyes narrowed playfully, and she added cheekily, "_Hot Lips_?"_

_Arnold's heart, which had already been pounding fairly hard, began thumping in his chest, and he nodded eagerly, leaning, both into her touch, and into her personal space. _ _The girl giggled, removing the hand from his face and the hand that she had clasped tightly in his, and slowly and wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled his body tightly against hers, and they were so close he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest, and he was sure she could feel the thumping of his own heart against hers. Without hesitation, he placed his palms gently on her waist, laying his forehead against hers tenderly and stared as deeply into his eyes as he could._

_The two were silent for a few seconds, both waiting for the other to act, before Helga sighed softly, her warm breath blowing onto his cheeks and mouth, and said, "Well, well, well, Football Head. Here we are again. Wrapped in each other's arms."_

_"Heh heh heh . . . yep," he said, blushing hotly, and forcing himself to maintain eye contact, though he very much wanted to look away in complete and utter embarrassment. "In each other's arms." His eyes slowly fell half-lidded, and he gave her a delicate Eskimo kiss, swelling in pride when she blushed and giggled. "Now, what was it you were just talking about? Something about you and me, and our lips touching . . ." He chuckled, his gaze falling onto her lips, which were slightly parted and so close that move an inch forward would cause them to press together. "Would you like me to do the honors?"_

_Helga shuddered, in his arms, one of her hands coming up to run through his hair. "Yes, _please _. . ."_

_He needed no further invitation as he pushed forward, clashing their lips together perfectly, and his movements were very quickly matched by her. There was nothing particularly _note-worthily _different about that kiss, but it was special in it's own right, simply because it was between the bully Helga, and the victim Arnold. After a few seconds, the two pulled back to pant for air, and as their eyes met, Helga's blue eyes shone with so much warmth, and Arnold knew his were in a similar state. She spoke to him, her voice light and dreamy and filled with so much _admiration _. . ._

_"Oh, Arnold . . . I love being here with you, and feeling your arms around me, and seeing your sultry green eyes gazing deeply back into mine, and tasting the sweetness of your lips." She shuddered, (as did Arnold at the sheer romanticism of her words), and continued on in that same voice. "Arnold, my beloved . . . You _must_ know how much I love you--how much my heart _pounds_ for you at the slightest touch! How much I yearn to feel your body, pressed so tightly against mine--how much I dream of being with you, kissing you, holding you! Oh, I love you, my soul's one true companion . . . my__ Arnold . . ."_

_Arnold wasn't even capable of coherent thought, which was why the words that left his mouth were equally as lovesick. "Helga, my sweet angel . . . I love you, too--_"

And that was when Arnold bolted upright, covered in sweat, and his heart racing a mile a minute in his chest. He had realized that he'd slept through his alarm, and what roused him had been a startling revelation that he dismissed almost immediately after dwelling on it's meaning. And as he got dressed, and brushed his teeth, and combed his hair, (very quickly, as he saw that he truly was running late), he muttered to himself about how dreams don't necessarily reflect one's emotions, and that he was still certifiably _not_ in like with Helga G. Pataki.

"Yeah, I don't know why I've been sleeping in so late," he said awkwardly, shaking himself from the memory of his dream. "I don't usually do that, especially on a morning that I've got school. I don't know. maybe later I'll talk to Grandpa about it." Arnold took comfort in the fact that that last statement wasn't exactly a flat out lie. Maybe he'd go talk to his Grandpa about his confusion concerning Helga G. Pataki. He knew he probably wouldn't, but there was a chance that he'd change his mind at some point. Sure, he didn't think that that was likely, but a lot could happen in their six-hour school day.

At that moment, the bus pulled up in front of the two boys, and they both stood, waiting for it to slow to a stop. "You know, you can talk to me about it," Gerald observed, offering Arnold to go first as the doors slid open. "I am your best friend, after all."

"I know," Arnold said with a nod, walking up the steps and choosing a seat relatively close to the back. "But you don't have the wisdom of an old man."

"True," Gerald conceded, taking the window seat and sliding against the wall of the bus to give Arnold some room. "But I'm telling you, man, I've got some advice somewhere inside my head. I _can _help you if you need it." He held his fist out for Arnold so they could do their hand-shake, and Arnold readily obliged. "You do know I'm always here for you, right?"

"Of course I do, Gerald," Arnold said immediately. "But I promise I'm fine. Everything's a-okay." Arnold's words were the result of his feeling _uncomfortable _with lying, _awkward_ about lying, and extremely _frustrated _that he was _still_ lying.

Gerald looked decidedly unconvinced, but he shrugged, figuring that Arnold was too terrible of a liar, and too sincere as a human being, to even attempt fibbing, especially to his best friend. Gerald's blind trust in Arnold only made the football-headed boy worse, but he did feel a sense of gratitude that he could persuade his best friend into thinking things so easily.

When the bus pulled up to Helga's stop, Arnold's posture straightened, and he looked towards the front of the bus to catch a glimpse of his heat-of-the-moment partner. However, the bus stopped for a mere few seconds, before the doors closed and it pulled away again. Arnold frowned, looking passed Gerald out the window and feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he saw there was no Helga rushing out her front door, panicking because she had missed the bus. _I wonder where she is_, Arnold thought unhappily, sitting back into his seat with a pout on his lips. _I hope she's okay _-

Before Arnold could finish his thought, he blinked a few times when he realized that someone was snapping their fingers in front of his face. He turned to look at his best friend, (who was the most likely suspect), and raised an eyebrow at the frown on Gerald's face. "What is it, Gerald?"

"Man, I swear, you are becoming obsessed with Pataki," he said grumpily, turning his body to face forward again. "What is with you?"

Arnold frowned in response to Gerald's observation. "I'm _not_ becoming obsessed with Helga, Gerald."

"Or, really?" At Arnold's determined shake of his head, Gerald added, shooting his best friend a suspicious look, "You _do_ know that was her stop, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"_So,_ why did you look so disappointed that she wasn't there? No Pataki means no spitballs; no Pataki means no one cutting in the lunch line; no Pataki means no one tripping you in the hallway, or calling you Football Head, or spraying you at the water fountain. That's a _good_ thing, isn't it?"

Arnold looked thoughtful for a moment, before shaking his head inside of his head. He didn't really think so, but he knew that telling his best friend that the fact that his tormentor wouldn't in school that day made him sad wasn't really a good move. Especially when him and said tormentor did less than appropriate things together when nobody was looking. "Yeah, I guess so," he answered hesitantly, though he did not believe the words that he said. _Or it just means that something's wrong, or that she's sick, or that she was so sad that she couldn't even to school today, or_ -

"Good," Gerald said after a moment of silence, interrupting Arnold's contemplation, and nodding in persuaded satisfaction. "But if I hear you complaining about the fact that there's gonna be no one there to torture you today, I'm calling the nurse and telling them to send you home, because you'd be one _sick_ puppy."

Arnold groaned inwardly at that, but remained silent. For the rest of the bus ride, he succumbed to listening to Gerald rant about his most recent confrontation with his younger sister Timberly, but was only _half_ paying attention, so consumed was he by thoughts concerning the pigtailed terror of Hillwood.

* * *

"Um... so, thanks for putting up with me last night," Helga said awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck and adjusting the math book under her arm.

"Don't worry about a thing, sweetheart," Mrs. Heyerdahl said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We _love_ having you over."

Helga's heart swelled at the thought that somebody actually _liked_ having her around, and she smiled softly at the curly-haired woman, (the only true smile she suspected she'd experience that day). "Well. Thanks anyway. I'll see you in the funny papers."

"'Bye, honey," Mrs. Heyerdahl said sweetly, kneeling down and offering both girls a brief hug before they walked into their elementary school. Phoebe flew into her mother's arms, resting her head on her shoulder and smiling wide. Helga, on the other hand, looked skeptically at the open arms that beckoned her forward. She thought about it; a large part of her being wanted to scoff and walk away to avoid looking too mushy and emotional to anybody who could witness it. But the sincere smile on the woman's face, and the encouraging nod from her best friend, coaxed her to return to hug. She pulled away mere seconds after the hug began, muttered something about being too tough to hug anybody, and hurried into the school, without waiting for her best friend to catch up.

* * *

The bus pulled up in front of the school at the same time as Mrs. Heyerdahl and Phoebe and Helga. Arnold had been so worried when she wasn't on the bus that morning, but the sight of her with Phoebe and Mrs. Heyerdahl relieved him immensely. He gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, and a large smile spread across his face when he saw her hesitantly return Phoebe's mother's hug. It was good to see her accepting somebody's affection, Arnold decided, and he let Gerald drag him forward, ignoring him as he muttered more choice words about him "being obsessed with one Helga G. Pataki."

* * *

Arnold sat down in his ordinary seat at the front of the classroom, eagerly awaiting the first spit ball of the day. Usually, Helga started in on him about two or three minutes into class, and he was actually pretty excited, to be honest. Never did she ever willingly talk to him, unless it was to taunt him, torture him, or embarrass him in front of everybody. The spitballs were really the only time that she actually decided to personally interact with him without the influence of the other kids. And now, when he turned around to glare at her, she no longer scowled at him, instead smirking mischievously and offering a slightly-exasperated eye roll, (just in case anybody was actually watching them, but, of course, no one ever was). Instead of making the blood in his veins boil, each spitball was now making his heart flutter, and he had come to look forward to the inevitable non-hostile teasing.

Those two or three minutes came and went. Arnold glanced at the clock, seeing that class had officially started five minutes ago, and not a _single_ spit ball, not even a rubber band. (Not that he was really expecting those, however, because rubber bands were always saved for special occasions.) Arnold let out a breath, reasoning with himself that a two-three minute delay was nothing to worry about. Maybe she was busy organizing notes, or she was daydreaming, (he'd seen it once or twice, and she always had this sweet smile on her face), or she was luring him into a false sense of security, (it wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last). Comforted enough, Arnold kicked his feet, a hidden smile spreading across his face.

Simmons' math lecture was anything but exciting, and Arnold was finding it extra hard to pay attention. His distraction only intensified when, after what felt like an eternity, there was _yet_ to be a spitball. Arnold looked back to the clock and saw ten minutes of class had passed.

And then fifteen minutes had passed . . .

Twenty . . .

Twenty-five . . .

Once the clock told him that class began twenty-six minutes ago, Arnold began to really worry. Well, worry more than he already had been. He turned around in his seat to see just what Helga was doing, and his concern increased ten-fold. She was sitting with her chin placed in her palm, her elbow perched on the desk. Her eyes were distant, just a little glazed over, and she was staring unblinkingly at the chalkboard at the front of the room, as if she were actually following the math lesson. Despite general appearances, Arnold could tell Helga's mind was way off in the distance, mulling over who-knows-what.

And Arnold had a sick feeling that he knew what that who-knows-what was.

* * *

English class. It wasn't until English class that he finally felt a spitball slap into the back of his head. He flinched, as it really did come out of nowhere; he hadn't had the pleasure of getting used to the persistent bits of saliva-soaked notebook paper hitting his football-shaped dome.

It was right when one of those mushy love poems was being read to the class. When those poems were first being read back in second grade, all the other kids went wild, laughing and jeering and conjecturing about who the lovesick fool could possibly be, but it was such old news now. Hardly anybody was even paying attention anymore. Nobody seemed to like those poems very much, but Arnold actually was rather . . . _fond _of them_._ Perhaps that was taking the compliment too far; he liked them, and that was as far as he was willing to admit.

Although Arnold found himself really wanting to listen to the unknown author's romantic musings, the spitball was a welcome distraction.

* * *

When the bell sounded for lunch, Arnold had only been shot with one spitball. As he placed his notebooks and pencils into his desk for later, his concern for her blossomed almost painfully in his chest, and he knew he wasn't hiding his worry too well. This was made even more evident when Gerald interrupted his rant about Jamie-O's latest prank on him to ask Arnold,

"Arnold, man, are you okay? You're looking a little . . . not yourself."

Arnold shrugged halfheartedly, fishing a few George Washington's out of his pocket to make sure he had enough for him and Helga both if the need came up. His voice was absent, distant, like he wasn't quite thinking of what he saying before he spoke. "I'm fine. It's just, do you think something's wrong with Helga?" The words were out of his mouth before he could check himself. He had been careful about showing external concern about his heat-of-the-moment partner, lest Gerald get suspicious and start asking questions that Arnold knew he wouldn't be able to mask with poorly thought out lies and not-so-smoothly glossed over, ambiguous answers.

It turns out the football-headed boy was right. The raised eyebrow that he received in response to the inquiry was enough to confirm that Arnold was indeed acting suspicious. Gerald paused a moment, as if letting Arnold's own statement sink in, before he answered. "Um, there's _always_ something wrong with Helga."

It was temporary, but Arnold felt an annoyance come over him and he forgot about his plan to seem even more indifferent towards his bully than he normally was. "Gerald, she's a good person deep down. There's nothing wrong with her. She's a normal kid, just like you or me."

Gerald's look of incredulity deepened. "Are you sure there isn't anything wrong with _you_?" he asked, his voice the perfect tone of accusation as he pushed open the doors to the cafeteria.

Arnold frowned. "Yes, Gerald, I'm sure. I mean, Helga hasn't been," (paying attention to me), "torturing me hardly at all today -" 

"And you _want_ her to torture you?" Gerald asked, his jaw falling just slightly open at the peculiar sentiment that had escaped his best friend's lips.

Arnold was feeling a little exasperated at that point, not only because Gerald was acting unnecessarily biased against the pigtailed girl, but also because Arnold knew he was spouting out extremely incriminating sentences. So incriminating that there was no hope of salvation should Gerald hit too close to home. "Of course not, Gerald. Helga's a bully, right? And she's not bullying anybody today. What does that tell you?"

"That maybe she's turned over a new leaf and has decided to not be Helga the Horrible anymore?" Gerald asked, his voice just a tad sarcastic, but also quite serious at the same time.

"No," Arnold said with a determined shake of his head. He grabbed a tray and stood in the lunch line. "It means something's wrong."

"And how do you know that?" Gerald asked, following Arnold to place himself in line behind his best friend.

Before Arnold could answer, a scowling Helga roughly seized a tray for herself and stood idly behind the boy with the tall hair. Arnold noticed right away, and hesitated a moment, deciding that the conversation was better left for later, when there weren't so many people around. "Let's just call it a hunch."

"If you say so," Gerald said dismissively, recognizing the newly-arrive company, and he grabbed one of the last of the tapioca puddings from the final station in the line. As the two boys made their way over to the normal table, Gerald said, "I just don't think you should worry about her so much. It's not like she's all that worried about _you_ whenever she's tripping you in the hallway, or squirting you at the water fountain, or tricking you into humiliating yourself in front of everybody, or calling you names, or cutting in the lunch line, or -"

"Okay, Gerald, I get it," Arnold interrupted, a small frown on his face as he pushed around the mush of mystery meat and vegetables on his tray with his plastic fork. "But don't you think it's weird that she's not doing _any_ of that today?"

"Not really," Gerald said immediately, digging straight away into his pudding cup. "I think it's a breath of fresh air."

Arnold wanted to agree with his best friend, but, when he looked over at Helga's table and saw her just as she was sitting down, her tray of food in her hand, and slightly-skewed scowl on her face. Arnold could see the sadness in her eyes, having seen it relatively recently on his rooftop when she talked about having to walk to preschool in the rain, and he knew better than to fall into Gerald's hypothesis. Something was wrong. And Arnold intended to find out what.

* * *

"OOF!"

"OW!"

"Arnold!" "Helga!"

Helga's usually fluttering heart after running into Arnold evaporated just as quickly as it had come, and she shook her head, jumping to her feet and shoving her textbook under her arm. _That stupid Football Head_! She chastised in her head. _I bet he's gonna get all _emotional_, and ask me if I'm _okay_, and check to see if I _need_ anything, and then he'll forget all about me and go back to being his _stupid_ Football-headed self and helping every single stray animal that stumbles along his path of righteousness_! A part of Helga knew that Arnold was _much_ too caring to let go of one of his friend's troubles so quickly, but a very large chunk of her mentality that day was feeling extraordinarily cynical; it was simply _not_ her day, and she had no desire to wait around and exchange pleasantries, (and perhaps a few clever innuendos and references), with the boy that was sprawled on the hallway floor. She stared down at him with narrowed eyes and growled under her breath, "For Pete's sake, I'm _not_ in the mood for this today!"

Arnold blinked at her snarling hostility and he gathered his own books, staring at her as she tried to push passed him. Without a second thought, he scrambled to his feet and hurried after her, grabbing one of her wrists and successfully stopping her in her tracks. "Helga, wait!"

Helga glanced down at the hand that had gripped her, and she roughly pulled herself away. "What do you _want_, Football Head? I have the headache from heck, and I'll like to get to the nurses office _before_ my head splits open."

"Are you okay?" Arnold asked, before he could stop himself to realize that Helga probably didn't want to dwell much on her problems.

"No, Football Head, I'm _not_ okay," Helga bit, folding her arms over her chest and settling a dangerous glare at his worried expression. "Hence, the _splitting headache_! Now, is there something I can _help_ you with, because I'd really not like to wait around all day and listen to you dishing out your stupid football-headed pity!"

Arnold frowned. "I don't pity you, Helga. I never have."

"Well, that's fan-fricken-_tastic_ for you, Head Boy."

He shook his head in slight exasperation. Usually, he could handle her stubbornness, but the fact that she was so evasive was really getting on his nerves, especially because all he wanted to do was help. "Helga, are you _sure_ you're not only in a bad mood because of your headache? I mean, today you've been so -"

The pigtailed girl shook her head, and turned away quickly, calling over her shoulder, "Well, I'll see'ya later, Football Head. As always, it was _not_ a joy running into you."

"Wait, but -" But before Arnold could get the rest of his words out, she had already turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. _Why is Helga so frustrating_? he thought, annoyed at everything that had happened that day. The fact that Gerald was so on his case about being so concerned about the girl in question. The fact that his concern wouldn't allow him to pay full attention in class, (causing him to get laughed at by his classmates again for listening and getting called out about it). The fact that Helga just wouldn't let him help her, no matter how delicate he tried to be about it. The fact that he couldn't openly express his concern without people getting suspicious.

The fact that he couldn't figure out _why_ it was so important to him.

* * *

Arnold was awarded with two more spitballs after lunch and recess. This made him happy and sad at the same time.

* * *

"Hello, Helga," Phoebe greeted, meeting her best friend at her locker. "Are you going home?"

Helga sighed, taking a textbook out of her backpack that she wouldn't need over the weekend. "Yeah, I guess so. I've been gone for a whole day now, my parents _have_ to be missing me by now." Something about that statement made every existing warm feeling, (which, granted wasn't in great supply) of Helga's turn dark and cold. It's not that she didn't miss her family, and she most _definitely_ missed her bed and her room, but she just wasn't ready to be ignored again. At least at Phoebe's house she was taken care of, and she was loved, but the second she got home, it would be right back to being called Olga, and being hungry during lunch, and always being addressed with a shout instead of a normal, calm voice. It was always the same, and Helga knew it always _would_ be the same.

Phoebe noticed Helga's apprehension. "Did you want to spend another night at my house, Helga?"

Helga shut her locker, softer than she normally did, and slung her backpack over her shoulder with a frown. "Nah, that's okay, Phoebs. I've been mooching off you for one day too long. Time to suck it up and go home."

"Well, if you're sure," Phoebe said hesitantly, following Helga's steps towards the exit of the school.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she responded, shooting her friend a smile and holding the door open for her.

Phoebe found this very suspicious. Whenever Helga was _truly_ sad, and didn't want anybody to know, she'd become passive and thoughtful, (as long as the person didn't show too much worry for her), and she'd go out of her way to seem what she viewed as 'normal' in other people. The problem with that was that outward passivity and thoughtfulness were two _very_ uncharacteristic qualities of Helga's, so it was quite evident to Phoebe that something really was wrong. Not wanting to stir the pot, though, and assuming Helga would confide if things got really too bad, Phoebe followed through the door with an encouraging smile.

* * *

"Alright, man, I've had just about enough of you drifting off into Helga land," Gerald said with a scowl, staring at Arnold as he was staring backwards a couple seats at his pigtailed bully. She was looking even worse for the wear than she had been before, and his concern for her was blossoming; he just didn't have anybody to voice his worries to. But at Gerald's words, he turned a frown to his best friend, and opened his mouth to respond, just as Gerald was putting his head phones over his ears. "_I'm_ listening to my music. Tap me on the shoulder or something if you ever come back to reality."

Arnold's frowned deepened, but Gerald had already hit 'play', and was no longer able to hear anything he said.

* * *

Helga took the window seat, as she normally did, and Phoebe glanced at her. Helga wasn't paying attention to anything around her; she was staring unblinkingly out of the window, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that she was _negatively_-pensive and sad. Most kids in their class wouldn't understand that Helga had feelings enough to be capable of sadness, so Phoebe did her best to shield her from prying eyes, but she knew that as soon as her stop came, (Phoebe always got off before Helga), Helga was raw meat for all blood-thirsty students, should they decide to torment her. With that reasoning in mind, Phoebe swept her eyes around the bus, trying to find a certain football-headed boy with the kind heart and the sweet smile. It didn't take long; a head like Arnold's was difficult to miss. He was sitting more towards the front, in the aisle seat, (Phoebe knew that Gerald was fond of the window seat and Arnold was too considerate to deny this of him), and Phoebe found this to be very lucky.

Phoebe rustled around in her backpack for a straw, (she always came prepared, and often Helga would ask her for one so that she could torture Arnold on the go), and very slowly and quietly ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook. She'd never thrown a spitball before, so she wasn't exactly sure how it worked, and she knew it would be rather hard to make a direct hit, despite the size of Arnold's head, but Phoebe was sure that Arnold was the only one to raise Helga's spirits, even if Helga wouldn't admit it.

The young Asian girl chewed up the strip of paper, aligned the straw in her mouth, made sure that her aim was in the general direction of Arnold, before blowing as hard as she could. She blinked a few times, and grinned in pride when she saw Arnold reach up and swat at the back of his head. However, her pride diminished when he otherwise stayed facing forward. Phoebe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Oh, Helga. You really have more patience than I give you credit for_. Phoebe repeated the process, her pride swelling when she hit him again, but this time, he turned around with a small frown.

Phoebe waved at him, and Arnold quirked his eyebrows when he realized that Helga wasn't behind this particular teasing, and, for some reason, his frown deepened at that. When Arnold opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, Phoebe made a rapid motion to keep him quiet, before pointing at the quiet girl beside him. Arnold raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Phoebe ripped another piece of paper out, eyeing Helga for a second, before scribbling a short message and holding it up to show an extremely confused Arnold. On it, in Phoebe's neat and precise handwriting, was the note: **_Come talk to her_**.

When Arnold didn't do anything, Phoebe actually had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. _Yes, Helga, you're much more patient than I ever would have guessed. Arnold sure is dense_. She pointed at the pensive girl beside her. With another assertive gesture towards the note in her hand, the message was finally received. He nodded, glancing briefly at his best friend beside him, but Gerald was too preoccupied with his music to notice anything around him.

Arnold carefully stood up, walking down the bus aisle. He gave a small smile to Phoebe as they passed, (who returned it reassuringly), and he sat down next to Helga as quietly as he could. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't move, but that relief didn't last long as he realized that she _didn't move_. His worry grew; it had been a while since he had seen her this contemplative, and it unnerved him. Still, he didn't want to interrupt her thoughts; he always hated when his friends or his grandparents had to wake him from his daydreams, and he wouldn't ever do that to someone else. Especially Helga. She might punch him, (well, maybe not _punch_ him, but she'd be _terrifyingly_ angry), and also, he sorta . . . liked watching her when she didn't think anybody else was looking. _Not-not in a weird or creepy way or anything!_ Arnold mentally insisted. _She just looks pretty and nice and I just wish I knew what she was thinking about. I bet it's something complex, something deep, something I wouldn't ever be able to comprehend, whatever it is. Something only Helga would be able to come up with._ He shifted slightly so he could look at her, a slightly sad, but mostly lovesick smile coming to his face. _I don't _want _to interrupt her, but I don't want to just stare at her the whole bus ride. I miss talking to her. I haven't had the chance to since we were on my roof._

Arnold didn't have to worry about that for long, because, with her arms still folded and her gaze still fixed out the window, Helga said suddenly, "Hey, Phoebes? Hypothetically, if I really _did_ ask to spend an extra night at your house, would that be considered running away from my problems?"

"Well, normally I would say 'yes,'" Arnold said thoughtfully. At his voice, Helga whipped her head to look at him, shock and surprise on her face, but Arnold kept speaking. "But, considering your situation, I'd say that it might help to take the time to collect yourself. Unless you _have_ to be home today, of course. Wouldn't want you getting in trouble." He smiled at her, still half-way facing her, with one of his legs lifted onto the bus seat.

Helga's mouth opened and closed, trying to come up with something to say. She glanced over to where Arnold usually sat, and scowled when she saw Phoebe sitting next to Gerald, engaged in sweet and quiet conversation. Helga's eyes narrowed as she turned back to Arnold. "What are _you_ doing here, Football Head?" she bit, voice dripping with acid. "Don't you have your million good deeds of the day to take care of?"

Arnold just smiled at her. "I can put my million good deeds on hold to talk to you, Helga."

"Yeah, well," was all Helga could manage out. She was really very touched by what Arnold had just said, (or, perhaps, that he felt the need to say anything at all, and to try to guide her with his stupid football-headed morals), but he didn't have to know that. She looked at him, her frown still on her face and her arms still folded, waiting for him to say something. When all he did was smile dazedly at her, she huffed and said, "Alright, bucko, you're here to talk, and all I'm hearing is a whole lot of silence. Is there something I can help you with, or do you get your kicks creepily staring off into space?"

Arnold blushed slightly, and he averted his eyes to his fingers, which were twiddling in his lap. "Oh, yeah. I couldn't help notice that you haven't really seemed like yourself today."

Helga raised part of her eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Arnold said slowly, "for starters, I only counted _three_ spitballs today. Usually, you're up in the forties. You also didn't -"

"Hang on a minute," Helga interrupted loudly, her hand raising up to halt Arnold in his speech. "You _count_ how many spitballs I shoot at you? Why?"

Arnold blushed in embarrassment. He didn't exactly mean to expose that little habit of his, but it had just slipped out. "Well, how many spitballs you shoot at me is generally a pretty good indication of how you're actually feeling, without me having to ask. About forty, maybe thirty-five, is when you're having an average day, and I don't really worry too much. If you're past fifty, it means you're _actually_ angry, and I usually steer clear of you on those days. Sorry," he admitted, chancing an apologetic glance at her. She just glared back, so he cleared his throat and continued. "Anything less than ten means you're sad. Anything less than five means you're _really_ sad, and that makes me worry. About you, I mean. I remember this one day a couple months back when you didn't shoot _any_ at me." He frowned. "You looked horrible that day. You didn't trip me, didn't call me any insulting names, didn't spray water on me at the water fountain. You didn't even scowl. You have no _idea_ how worried I was."

Helga felt the nagging desire to make fun of him for being such a worrywart, but she figured she'd cut him a break. _Besides, he was _worried _about me. _He _was worried about _me_. Whenever I'm not mean, he gets _worried_._ She couldn't stop thinking those words; it made her so unbelievably giddy and lovesick inside. Ultimately, she decided that mild teasing wouldn't be too bad. She wasn't very good at taking compliments, or responding to other people fussing over her, and, if Arnold knew her as well as he claimed he did, he'd understand her sentiment. "Well, Football Head, your attachment to my merciless torture is touching, and also extremely weird," she commented, a grin pulling at the side of her mouth. "You have to be the _weirdest_ football head I've ever met."

"Weirder than Arnie?" Arnold asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"_Arnie_?" Helga said, waving a dismissive hand, inwardly pleased, (and just a little _outwardly_ pleased), that he had understood her verbal intentions. "Arnie's got a taco-shaped head, and, before you ask, _yes_, he's the weirdest Taco Head I've ever met."

Arnold laughed, turning to face her a little more. _She's smiling! I got her smiling! _He felt just a little prideful at that as he answered, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Hey, I'm Helga G. Pataki," she said casually. "I'm always right."

Arnold felt a surge of courage and boldness, (a feeling he often felt around Helga these days), and said with a grin, "If I agree to that, will you let me walk you to Slausen's for ice cream?" _Not a date_, he hastily corrected in his mind. _This isn't a date; it's a__ simple outing between friends_.

Helga blushed warmly, and she averted her eyes, a funny smile spreading across her face. _Is he asking me on a _date?!_ No, no, calm down, Helga. Going to get ice cream does immediately translate to 'date,' especially not in the case of Arnold. Maybe he just wants to hang out for awhile? Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad! It's not like I hate his company, or whatever, and over the past few days I'm well aware that he doesn't exactly _complain _when I'm around. Even so, I don't want to be so out in the open with everything. I mean, if we're caught together in public, I wouldn't deny it, or make any wild excuses or anything, because... well, come on, I'm hanging out with _Arnold_, and he's doing it on the grounds of his own free will! No _way _am I going to pass this up!_ With this decision in mind, she nodded slowly and said, "Um, I wouldn't mind gracing you with my presence, Football Head, but not Slausen's. How about we compromise?"

Arnold grinned good-naturedly. "Helga G. Pataki? Making a _compromise?_"

"Shut up, _Arnoldo_," Helga said with a scowl, (but, as always, there was still that underlying smile, which told Arnold that she really wasn't angry), and she punched him playfully on the arm. "If it makes you feel any better, we can call it a business deal, and your fragile mental image of me won't have to change."

"I don't have a mental image of you," Arnold said immediately, absently rubbing the place she had hit him. He tilted his head in thought and added, "Well, I mean, I _do_, but it isn't like what you're thinking."

There was a beat of silence. Arnold was lost in thought, and Helga was maybe-not-so-patiently waiting for Arnold to explain himself, but, when he didn't, she huffed impatiently, folding her arms over her chest. "Well, are you going to _tell_ me, Football Head? If it's about me, I have the right to know about it!"

Arnold briefly thought about maybe indulging her curiosity, but he immediately scrapped the idea. _Not that I don't want to brave her mercilessly taunting me, but how can I tell her that whenever I think about her, she's always smiling and blushing and teasing me and . . . well, okay, _maybe_ I'm holding her, or kissing her, or . . ._ Arnold blushed with a nearly-undetectable gulp. _Well, I guess she does have a right to know, but it's definitely not something she'll expect_. He opened his mouth to maybe sugar-coat how he actually saw her, (especially after the rather _interesting_ month they were having), but at that exact moment, the bus neared the Boarding House and he reached up to pull the cord above his head. "We're at my stop," he said hurriedly. "Want to come to my house?"

Helga started in surprise. _Come . . . to his house?!_ Helga's mind reeled with a thousand possibilities, none more prominent than her delightful memories of her adventures on his roof, but when she hesitated, Arnold just grabbed her hand and her math book and pulled her along after him. He just barely heard Gerald call, "Arnold, man, what're you doing?" before he was off of the bus and onto the solid concrete, a confused and annoyed Helga Pataki beside him.

The baffled girl wrenched her hand out of his, seizing her math book and shoving it under her arm. "You want to _explain_ yourself, Football Head?" she asked, pointedly.

"Uh . . ." Arnold began slowly, unsure of how to respond, as he was unsure of the answer himself. "You took too long to answer, and the bus driver gets annoyed with me, or well, anybody really, he's kind of impatient, so I figured if you eventually said 'yes,' we wouldn't get yelled at for holding everybody up."

Helga raised part of her eyebrow, the sides of her lips quirking upwards in amusement and mild maliciousness. "And if I eventually said _no_?" _Yeah, right_, Helga thought with an inward scoff. _Like I'd ever pass up the chance to spend time with Football Head in his house without anybody else around_.

Arnold blushed at the obvious possibility and looked away. "Actually, I didn't really have a Plan B to that situation, but I guess I could just ask Grandpa to give you a ride?" He glanced at her again and said slowly, hesitantly, "Do you want to go home?"

She contemplated for a moment, her eyebrow raised slightly on one side and her calculating gaze piercing him with that startling icy blue. She looked him up and down briefly before shrugging and saying, "Nah. It's not like anybody's gonna . . ." She trailed off, giving a short shake of her head, abandoning telling him about her personal life at the last second. "I mean, uh, sure, I'll stick around, I guess. Whatever floats your boat, Football Head."

Arnold's head tilted slightly in curiosity at her having interrupting herself, (especially because, judging by her tone and the beginning words, it sounded like that problem that was surely eating her away inside). He tossed around the idea of asking her about it, with the rather delusional hope that she'd actually open up to him, tell him her problems, and let him comfort her. But, after a moment, he just sighed and put on his best smile, saying, "Great. We can hang out in my room. That is, if you're not up for my roof today." He smirked at her, taking her hand and leading her to his stoop.

Helga rolled her eyes, but didn't take her hand from his, and shook her head. "I don't know, Football Head, you'd have to beg pretty desperately to get me on your roof again."

Arnold gestured for Helga to move out of the way of the stampede of stray cats and sled dogs and Abner, before tugging on her hand lightly and ushering her inside. "I don't know, Helga. I'm pretty sure, if I tried hard enough, _I_ could get _you_ begging," he responded with a playful, suggestive smirk. After he closed the door behind them, he turned around so that they were facing each other. He placed his hand gently on her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking her skin. He leaned in close so that their noses were almost touching, and Helga felt her heart speed up as she felt his heat radiate off of him. Any second, he'd close the gap, but instead he . . .

. . . pulled back again, his smirk intensifying. "But, hey. I'll give you a chance to get me begging first."

The poor girl was ready to deck him, when he just shook his head and walked away. _I _hate_ that stupid Football Head. That stupid, idiotic, taunting, jerkish . . . romantic, handsome, sweet, compassionate, Football Head_. She swooned quietly, before hurrying after him, down the hallway, and up the stairs. A few steps up, made in complete silence, and Helga began to chastise herself for her sudden shyness. _Come on, Helga ol' girl, jab back! You've never let him win before, why start now_? "You know, Head Boy," she called up to him, "That was a pretty manipulative prank you just pulled, and may I just say that I'm kind of impressed. And you should know that, coming from me, that is the most coveted compliment you could ever hope to get. And as for your sudden." She thought a moment for the proper word, "_irritating_ reflection of _my_ personality, you have _me_ to thank for that. We're spending way too much time together, you know. I'm thinking we should cut back on that. One too many heat of the moments, and you'll be scowling and shaking your fists and calling other kids 'geek bait.'"

Arnold laughed, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "Is that so? Well, you _do_ know what that means, don't you?"

"I'll finally have a partner in crime to help me torture Pink Boy and Princess and the other chuckleheads in our class?" Helga asked, her smirk evident in her voice.

"Not quite what I was thinking," Arnold said, a similar amusement clear in his tone. "What I meant was that if _I_ become _you_, then _you'll_ become _me_. And you'd give advice to the other fourth graders, and you'd be fair and help people whenever they asked for it. You'd be a regular wet blanket." They made it to the first landing and were walking down the hallway towards the steps to Arnold's bedroom.

"Well, in that case, I might as well leave right now," she said with a chuckle, and a roll of her eyes. Despite her 'threat,' she didn't make a move to turn around. "Can't have myself turning into a goody-two-shoes. I'd hate myself after one day."

"Ouch," he responded with a laugh, taking the first few steps up the stairs. "You sound so sure of yourself, but I don't know, Helga, I think you _like_ being nice. I mean, you're really nice when it's just you and me alone."

"Is _this_ what you call nice?" Helga asked incredulously. _What exactly is Football Head trying to say_? "You must have really low standards."

"Oh, I wouldn't say low," Arnold said, glancing over his shoulder again, drinking in the sight of her following him, her book under her arm and her other arm folded over her chest. He smiled. "Just different."

Helga face heated up under his gaze, and his words made her heart hammer in her chest. _For Pete's sake, he has no idea what he's doing to me, does he?_ she thought, almost angrily. She cleared her throat, trying to find some words to offer as a response, but his cheeky flirtation was too much for her lovesick heart, and she fell silent.

If Arnold noticed her awkwardness, he did nothing to draw attention to it, instead holding the door open for her and shutting it behind her. "Have a seat anywhere you like," he said politely, gesturing around the room with his free hand. He laughed when she just hopped up on the couch without another word, and, after he clicked on a light or two, (subconsciously, but also a little consciously trying to impress her), he sat beside her. There was a beat of awkward silence, and to break it, Arnold said the first thing that his emboldened side could think of: "Did you agree to come up here because you thought we were going to make out?"

Helga started, clearly not having expected anything of the sort to leave his mouth, and turned to him with surprised eyes. She swallowed at the blank look on his face. _Crimeny, that boy will be my undoing_, she thought, shaking her head and bringing herself back to the moment. "We don't _have_ to make out," she responded, sliding down the couch so that their thighs were pressed flush against each other. She gazed at him through hooded lids, a suggestive smirk on her face. "There are plenty of _other_ things we could do."

Arnold hummed thoughtfully, his blank look turning into one of intrigue, and he twisted his torso to face her. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Helga said slowly, leaning in closer to him, her smirk growing more and more devious. Noticing this, Arnold's smile widened in anticipation, and he leaned into her as well. Their noses were about to touch when Helga suddenly withdrew, (much as Arnold had done to her earlier), bending down and grabbing her math book from the floor. "We were given a boat load of homework," she exclaimed, opening the textbook and absentmindedly flipping to a random page. Her mind was currently settled on irritating Arnold as much as possible, and she figured she was doing a pretty good job, judging by the huff that came from his direction. "And believe me," she continued, mock obliviously, staring intently at the page. "I do _not_ want to get stuck doing homework after dinner again because kissing you is so darn fun." She glanced over at Arnold and had to suppress amused laughter when she saw the expression on his face: his eyes were half-lidded in annoyance, his mouth quirked into a pout, and his eyebrows furrowed.

When their eyes met, Arnold folded his arms over his chest. "If kissing me is _so darn fun_, why aren't you doing it right now?" His voice sounded so childish that Helga had to roll her eyes at his dramatic reaction. She leaned back against the couch and crossed one leg over the other coyly. _I knew it was easy to ruffle his feathers, but this is hilarious_! "Did you not just hear what I said? I hate doing homework after dinner. Might as well get it out of the way now."

Arnold groaned. "_Right_ now?" _This isn't fair_, he thought, feeling disgruntled and unsatisfied. _She knows exactly what she's doing! I just don't think she gets that ignoring me like that, but still sitting so close I can feel her heat, _will_ drive me crazy! I mean, she's so beautiful, and she's sitting _right there_, and I _swear_, she's pouting her lips on purpose!_ In that very brief pause of silence, he watched her facial expressions change in slow motion.

"No time like the present, Head Boy," Helga said giddily, turning back to the textbook open on her lap. (_See! She's doing it again, she's trying to get me to break or something, I don't know, but she's doing it _intentionally_ to make me insane!_) "Now, _long division_ with _decimals_. Sounds like fu-"

_Nope, no way_, Arnold thought, and before she could finish, he gripped her cheeks with both of his hands, turned her head to face him, and planted his lips firmly on hers. Helga jolted in surprise, the textbook sliding off of her lap and onto the floor as she stared at his closed lids. In her surprise, all she could focus on was the fact that his lips were moving fluidly against her own, and his fingertips were pressed carefully to the sides of her face.

_O-oh_, she thought in a daze. _That's one way to get my attention _. . .

Because Arnold knew that he didn't exactly ask for permission to do this, he kept everything light and simple. He kept his tongue in his mouth, his hands were motionless on her face, and there was a good distance between their bodies on the couch. He _wanted_ to be a gentleman, and, although he was aware of the fact that he hadn't been as chivalrous as he knew he should be, he did hold some sense of boundaries when it came to kissing and holding girls. (Boundaries that he had just recently established for himself, and he really was very surprised that he had to establish them to begin with.)

He opened his eyes a fraction to see her face, and their eyes locked instantly. Her baby blues were wide, her thick lashes lining her circular eyes perfectly. It was then that he realized that she wasn't kissing him back. _Uh oh _. . . he thought worriedly, before removing his lips from hers and lifting his hands from her cheeks. He was blushing furiously, his eyes nervous, anxious, and a little scared as he stared at her. _She's going to kill me, I know she is_.

A few seconds of unbearable silence weighed heavily on the two fourth graders. Arnold pointedly avoided Helga's gaze, while Helga drank the sight of him in. Finally, just before Arnold was going to rip his hair out because of the thick tension, Helga said, "Well . . . don't start what you can't finish, Football Head."

Arnold's head snapped up to look at her, his eyes wide and questioning, his mouth formed in a small 'o'. _Is she serious_? He studied her carefully, making absolutely certain that she meant it, just in case he took advantage of her. _She seems sincere_, Arnold thought slowly. _And _. . . A small smile crept up on his face._ Well, who am I to deny a quick, or maybe not-so-quick, kiss with the prettiest girl in the fourth grade_? He slid down the couch so that they were sitting even closer, and he gripped her cheeks tightly again, a smirk very evident on his face. "Believe me, Helga," he said, a small chuckle escaping his slightly parted lips, "I fully intend to finish this."

Helga smirked back at him, her stomach fluttering with excitement as she leaned forward and pressed their lips together, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. He responded immediately, his hands sliding down her body and resting tightly on her waist, squeezing every so often as they kissed. _She's so warm,_ he thought distantly, giving her an extra tight squeeze.

A couple minutes in, a thought managed to process in Arnold's intoxicated mind, and he mumbled against her lips, "We kiss a lot," which just caused Helga to smirk and respond with a cheeky,

"Don't do it enough, Football Head."

Arnold leaned back from her to continue up the little flirt-match he had initiated. "Is that a hint?" he asked, his hands roaming from the back of her ribs, to the small of her back and up again.

Helga giggled, running her fingers through his hair, and tugging lightly. "Only if you want it to be, Football Head." _Crimeny, is he a lot more fun now that he's dropped the whole 'I gotta apologize for every little thing' thing_, she thought giddily, biting her bottom lip and worrying it, in the attempt to stifle her laughter. _I just can't get _enough_ of him like this_.

Arnold must've noticed her sudden coyness, because he leaned forward and gave her top lip a slow lick with his tongue. He smirked triumphantly when her eyes widened in surprise and she released the lip she had been chewing on. Before she could ask him what his sudden action was _for_, (as he saw the question lurking in her eyes), he chuckled, and said, his voice low and suggestive, "Did you really think I'd let you get away with hiding that pretty bottom lip from me?" When Helga shivered in his arms, he swooped forward, catching her bottom lip in between his, massaging it slowly, sensually, and counting the seconds before her inevitable moan did things to his body that he couldn't explain. He didn't let the unfamiliarity, (that, to be honest, he'd been becoming more and more familiar with as the heat of the moments grew hotter and hotter), deter him, however, and he pushed forward even more, moving with even more determination and allowing that new feeling to wash over him. It was warm, settling in his stomach and spreading outwards like a cup of hot chocolate, or the green tea that his grandmother made for him on certain mornings, served boiling hot and with way too much honey.

Helga was pushing back his body, but he was too distracted trying to pay her lip as much attention as was possible for that simple fact to really register. This explained why he didn't notice he was being lowered onto his couch until his back landed on the red cushion, and the light weight of Helga settled comfortably on top of him. He was laying on something hard, but he was much too distracted by the girl who was resting on top of him to really notice. She pulled back briefly so that she could participate in the mind-blowing new sort of kiss that Arnold had discovered, but, thanks to his black belt reflexes, one of his hands shot up and he placed a finger on her mouth as a way to stop her movements. She looked at him in confusion, but he just smirked up at her. "You're awfully eager today," he commented casually, a darkened look in his eyes. "And _you're_ on top of _me_ this time around." He ran the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip, feeling a wonderful sense of accomplishment when she trembled slightly under his touch. "It feels nice, doesn't it?"

"_Yes_," Helga mewled, as Arnold's thumb slid to the side and he cupped her cheek. "If you're done flirting, I'd really like to get back to the whole making out part -"

Arnold silenced her by arching his head up, finding her lips with his own and kissing her with as much power as his position would allow. They had fallen into such a nice, very pleasurable routine when it came to their heat of the moments, but this spontaneous make-out session felt much more _delightful_, if that were the right word. While there _was_ a thrill in the organized, planned heat of the moments, (prompted by unexpected circumstances that they'd been experiencing during the day), the adrenaline pumping through both Arnold and Helga's veins due to the much more impulsive actions that lead them up until that point was much greater, and much warmer than what they were used to.

Arnold's hand gripped the back of Helga's neck, attempting to draw her even closer than she already was. He felt like he was dragging her soul out through her mouth, sucking the essence from between her lips, and it was the most intoxicating sensation he'd ever felt. There was something different about that particular heat of the moment, aside from the fact that it was one of their first unplanned one in a while, (and, of course, that Helga had found herself atop Arnold, which definitely hadn't ever happened before), but Arnold couldn't quite put his finger on what was so special about it.

At one particularly wonderful slip of Arnold's tongue, Helga moaned, her fingers clenching on his shoulders and her nails digging into the fabric. Arnold's breath hitched; the sensation was painful, yes, but there was a pleasurable quality to it as well, that caused him to plunge his tongue even deeper into her mouth.

Just as the kiss was beginning to get heated, soft jazz music started playing around them, and, as Arnold and Helga pulled away from each other, the football-headed boy finally realized what exactly he'd been laying on. They stared at each other for a moment before they both started laughing, and Helga picked herself off of him, deciding that the passionate mood had been killed by the _calming _saxophone/piano music. Arnold sat up, too, laughter still racking his body, and he took her hand in his.

"Well, that's one way shock us into reality," Helga said with an eye roll, lacing their fingers together and leaning her back against the red cushions of the couch.

"It had to happen sometime," Arnold answered with a chuckle, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. They fell into a comfortable silence, the only noise in the room being the comforting music floating from the speakers placed strategically around the bedroom. Arnold didn't think to turn it off; he found the noises to be just so comforting, and Helga wasn't complaining, so he let the song continue. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts for the song to really resonate, and Helga had assumed it was instrumental; she wasn't much of a jazz fan, but she figured that most jazz music, (save those songs by Dino Spumoni and his daughter), consisted entirely of pure instruments.

_Does your heart beat fast when I . . . kiss your lips?_

_Because my heart beats fast with every swing of your hips._

_Do them butterflies soar when I . . . hold your hand?_

_I'll ask you, if you'll have me: let me be your man_?

Helga glanced at Arnold, her cheeks flushed scarlet, and her lips slightly parted. She hadn't expected something so romantic to be playing, but there wasn't a bone in her body that was protesting. A part of her was embarrassed, because if he didn't feel the same way, he'd grow awkward, uncomfortable, and maybe ask her to leave. But if he _did_ feel the same way, (an idea that Helga wasn't entirely sure she could dismiss anymore), then she might even get a--dare she hope-confession.

Arnold's heart was racing at such _mushy_ lyrics, and he pointedly avoided her gaze. _I . . . I don't know what to do here_, he thought desperately. _Maybe . . . maybe I should ask her to go. This is . . . if it was just . . . but now it's really _. . . He could hardly think straight with her body so close to his body, and her hand so warm in his hand, and the taste of her mouth still so very obvious on his lips.

_If I asked you to dance, would you . . . tell me yes?_

_Because without your love, I'm nothing short of a mess._

_If I were to tell you that your smile makes me weak,_

_And my hands grow clammy when I hear you speak_.

The last verse it hit rather close to home for Arnold. His dream from the night before came rushing back to him; he could distinctly remember thinking before that every time she smiled at him, he felt his knees shake. And her voice . . . he _loved_ her voice. He loved listening to her flirt with him, moan against him, speak so sweetly whenever he did something to please her. He had no particular desire to, but he found his eyes drifting over to her, and he blushed even redder when he noticed that she was already looking at him, a softness in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. She tried to frown at him when they made eye contact, but Arnold knew better. She couldn't even get her lips to downturn, so happy she apparently seemed.

Arnold opened his mouth to say something, but closed it almost immediately afterwards. He didn't know exactly what to say, because, try as he might, he couldn't make his eyes leave hers. Their gazes were locked, as much as that made his stomach trip over itself. The sounds, the lyrics, the warmness of her hand . . . it was all too much . . .

_Would you be excited if I... spoke of love?_

_I'll tell you all about it, with just a tiny shove._

_I hope you know I mean it when I . . . kiss you deep,_

_And you own my very soul, should you want it to keep_.

Helga almost swooned as Arnold's eyes grew just a tad half-lidded, and his lips curved upwards in a soft smile. She shifted towards him slightly, almost imperceptibly, so she could easily mask it should he suddenly appear uncomfortable with her advancements. She was pleasantly surprised, however, when he slid closer to her as well, his hand squeezing hers tightly, and their thighs brushed against each other.

Their lips were suddenly much closer.

_If you take my hand, I'll show you . . . how to swing._

_'Cause, doll, when you're around me, yes, you make me sing._

_I want to pull you close and whisper . . . in your ear,_

_Every little thing that you might want to hear_.

Closer . . . closer . . . their breaths began to mix . . .

_I love you, baby doll, with your . . . shining hair._

(Arnold, somehow, found that one of his hands had twisted in one of her pigtails.)

_I need to find a way to show you that I really care._

_I love you, baby doll, with your . . . big, blue eyes,_

_Whenever I'm with you, I'm the luckiest guy_.

They both hesitated, and for what reason, neither really knew. They'd kissed before, in several different ways, from passionate, to angry, to gentle, to frantic. Every kiss had felt different in it's own different way, but there was an odd finality to this kiss, like there would be questions finally answered, but an abundance of _new_ questions that would inevitably advance on them from the horizon.

In the end, they decided they didn't care, and they mutually pushed forward, closing the gap and gently pressing their lips together. Helga's eyes fluttering closed delicately, but Arnold's eyes slammed to the very tops of his cheeks like his life depended on it, his lids squeezed shut tightly. He wanted to stop. He _didn't_ love her, he didn't _want_ to love her, and he had no greater desire than to stop kissing her and pull away, but his body refused to listen to reason.

The final words of the song began after a brief instrumental break, but Arnold and Helga could only really half absorb the meaning of the words, sang in the sweet, silky tones of Dino Spumoni:

_If you love me in return, just kiss my . . . willing lips,_

_Because your smile's got my heart in it's strongest grip._

_If you love me in return, just hold my . . . eager hand,_

_And I'll do all that it takes to make you understand . . ._

_All my love, all my love, all my looove_!

The song faded away into silence, in which Arnold and Helga's lips still moved against each other, so in sync, so in tune, so gentle in nature that neither wanted to stop. Not even Arnold, who's previous opposition faded with every second of contact, every soft moan that he swallowed between his lips. His eyes had relaxed, his lashes fluttering now and then against his skin. The silence in the room was deafening, but oddly comforting, and they would've continued for who-knows how long, but--

_You better not touch my gal!_

_Or I'll punch you in the kisser, pal_!

The sudden fast, loud song shocked the two a part. Arnold's eyes snapped open wide, and he pushed her away, actually physically removing himself from her hold, and sliding to the opposite end of the couch. His heart was racing, his head was pounding, his stomach felt heavy and sick. _I--no, no way; that didn't just happen, _please_ tell me that didn't just happen!_ He leaned back, putting a hand to his forehead, pinching his skin between his thumb and forefinger, trying to get his thoughts in order enough to be coherent. The way he had gotten caught up such a romantic kiss with her, paired with the memory of his thought-provoking dream from the night before left him a puddle of confusion and anxiety on his couch; he was unable to organize his rapidly-shifting thoughts into something to be easily comprehended, and it was driving him _insane_.

Finally he chanced a glance at the girl that he _didn't_ love, and his heart, which had been aching in fear at the sudden emotions that were brewing inside of him, suddenly dropped into his stomach at the look on Helga's face. Her eyes were wide, staring at some point in front of her, a bit misty, but it was clear that she was holding back. She twiddled her thumbs absently on her lap, and her mouth was twisted into a frown. Arnold could only imagine what it felt like for anybody, (even somebody that he didn't like like), to push him away so suddenly after a kiss.

There was something akin to regret, or perhaps that's exactly what it was, when Arnold sighed deeply, before shifting closer to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, gathering her body to him. He placed a gentle, apologetic kiss on her forehead, and let the fingers of his free hand run through her pigtails, careful enough not to scare her away, and slowly enough not to pull her hair. Again, the true pleasure that he felt in his very core caused him to feel the unfair impulse to push away from her, but when he stared into her eyes that were so doe-like, and when he drank in her face that was so relieved and relaxed, he didn't have the heart to. He forced his mind away from the obvious, and found himself remembering just why she was in his bedroom to begin with. He smiled at her reassuringly, and tightened his hold on her even more. Helga smiled back at him, waiting for him to speak, as there was clearly something on his mind. And she was right: she noticed his smile as it faltered slightly when he saw the ever-present sadness in her eyes. He sighed and hesitated, contemplating what he was going to say. He had to be careful; anything too forward, or anything that bordered too closely to pity, would make her run from him, and that was the last thing he wanted, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Finally, he settled on a simple admission of concern. "Helga. I know there's something wrong; it's why you've been so closed off today. Please tell me what is it."

Helga cleared her throat, averting her eyes uncomfortably. She absently placed her arms around his neck, relishing in his gentle touch, but not allowing herself to be caught up in his wondrous attention. "I'm fine. Don't worry your football head about me."

"Helga," Arnold said again, his voice firm, stern, and demanding attention. He only spoke again when her curious, timid eyes locked with his. "That's not going to work. You've been quieter than normal today, and when you haven't been quiet, you've been violent with anybody that annoyed you. Helga, I _know_ you. That means something's wrong." He sighed deeply, knowing he was treading on thin ice, but he wasn't about to let his worries go. "And I think it has something to do with your parents."

The girl scowled at that, her eyebrow furrowing angrily. Her fluffy, warm feelings of love for him were fading away, instead being replaced by her gut-reaction to anybody trying to pry into her personal life. "And you think that _because_?" she asked, her voice low and lethal.

"Because back on the bus, when you thought I was Phoebe, you asked if spending another night at her house was considered running away from your problems," he answered immediately. "That means that there _is_ a problem, and it means that problem is at home." He winced on the inside when he saw her scowl turn rapidly into a look of panic, before settling into a sad expression of resignation. "Please, Helga. You trust me, right?" He waited for her to nod before he continued. "Then please tell me what's bothering you. I can't be there for you if you don't open up to me."

There was a long pause of silence before Helga sighed and said quietly, "It really is nothing, Arnold." (Arnold's heart fluttered when she said his real name, but he ignored it and instead focused on her words.) "It's just . . . home is home. You know Bob, you know Miriam, so you know what I'm talking about. I mean, sometimes I can handle it - no, _most_ of the time I can handle it. Heck, pretty much _all the time_ I can handle it, but . . ." She looked deeply into his eyes, trying to drink in his care and comfort, lest he suddenly disappear. "Sometimes it's just too much. Sometimes I just need to get away. And sometimes I want to talk about it, and sometimes I want people to just leave me alone. Sometimes I care about what people think of me and my home life, and sometimes . . ." her voice trailed off and she looked away.

Arnold's free hand, (not clasped onto her waist), removed itself from her hair and cupped her cheek, coaxing her into returning her gaze to him. "Sometimes?" he prompted quietly, urging her to go on.

Helga bit her lip, collecting herself before continuing, "Sometimes I think if I complain enough, somebody, heck _anybody_, will come help me. To just care about me. Crimeny knows I don't get that at home." Helga felt something wash over her, and she tried to force it down, but the moment was too thick, the emotion too raw, the look in Arnold's eyes too intent and patient and kind. That something only ever consumed her when she was alone; it had never happened around anybody else. Not Phoebe, not Dr. Bliss, and definitely not her parents. She felt the need to cry, to cling to someone and listen to soft-spoken words of comfort as she just let everything out in a way she wasn't quite used to. And she couldn't hold it back, even if she wanted to. And when she felt hot tears prick the corners of her eyes, she knew it was too late. There was no way she could stop herself, and she knew Arnold had seen it before she could look away. So she gave in. Her bottom lip quivered and she stared into his eyes as she said, "Arnold . . . they make me so _angry _. . . And . . . and _sad_. I _hate _feeling sad. Just . . ." she pulled herself closer to him, "please, Arnold, just hold me."

As soon as these quiet words left her mouth, Arnold hummed quietly, before taking hold of her thin frame and pulling her into his chest. He was silent for a moment, having zero experience in calming a crying girl, and tried to gather his thoughts in order to successfully soothe her tears. Finally, he settled on a simple, "_I_ care about you," in the form of a whisper in her ear. Helga let out a very soft sob, before clinging to his sweater and burying her face in the crook of his neck. Arnold's breath hitched in his throat at the sudden, unexpected act of desperation, but he held her tighter, rocking her back and forth, when he felt wetness on his bare neck. He felt the need to say something, to say _anything_, so he just spouted out the first words of comfort he could think of. "I _do_ care about you, Helga. More than you know. You remember that time I got lunch for you? Well, every day since then, I'll watch you in the cafeteria to make sure you get food so you don't go hungry. I would never forgive myself if I let something like that happen. I worry when you don't call me Football Head, because I know that whatever's wrong is _serious_. I can't stand it when you're hurting, especially if it's because of your parents. And you know why?" In between cries, he felt Helga shake her head. "Because I can't help you like I want to. I can't make it better, because at the end of the day, you still have to go back there, and we have to be apart. And because you're Helga G. Pataki, and I'm Arnold, we can't spend time together at school. I don't completely understand _why_, but I know we just can't. So I have to wait until I can get you alone so I can hold you, and kiss you, and try to make it better, because even if you're happy, I can tell you're still sad. Helga, it _kills_ me when you're sad." Arnold took a deep breath. "I . . . I just care about you, Helga. Please believe me." He continued rocking her, and didn't stop, even when her sniffles turned to heavy, uneven breaths. "Everything will turn out just fine. Trust me, and if you do that, then I'll make _sure_ everything will be fine. I'll do everything I can to make you happy. I just want you to be happy. Can you believe that?"

Helga lifted her head to look at him, so she could see his eyes and make sure he wasn't trying to deceive her. She was met with two sparkling green eyes, slightly misty and quirked with empathy. There was an optimistic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he met her gaze steadily. Through teary eyes, she smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her that she'd never felt before. It originated at her heart, and coursed through her veins and heated the tips of her toes. She felt like someone actually _cared_ about her, and it was the most wonderful feeling she'd ever experienced. "Ar-HUH-nold -" She stopped, and just stared at him for a moment, before she giggled at the fact that she'd hiccuped through saying his name.

Arnold chuckled at her sudden recovery, (_How is it possible for one person to be so cute_? he thought dreamily), and starting running his fingers through her hair again, soothing away the rest of her worries with his gentle touch. He waited for her to speak, eager to see what she had to say about his small little speech. Before she said anything, however, she took his face in her hands and kissed him straight on the mouth with everything she had. It lasted only a couple seconds, but it was deep and full of promise, and when she pulled back, she wore a smile that cracked her face in two. "Thanks, Arnold," she said.

He blinked a few times, still a bit dazed at having received such a strong kiss so out of the blue. He chuckled, only really half processing what she had said, as he responded, "No problem, Helga."

They gazed at each other for a few seconds before Helga sighed contently, lowering her head onto his chest and snuggling into him, trying to absorb as much of his heat as possible. If Arnold objected, he didn't voice his grievances, so she situated herself until she was completely comfortable, before asking him quietly, "Can we just stay here for a little while longer?"

Without hesitation, Arnold nodded, tugging her closer to his chest, and not ceasing his caressing. "Of course. We can stay here for as long as you want."

Helga sighed happily, nuzzling her head into him and letting herself enjoy his ministrations. Slowly, very slowly, she felt herself drift off, and the last thing she felt was a prolonged kiss on the top of her head before she was asleep.

* * *

"Knock, knock, Shortman," Phil said, opening the door to his grandson's bedroom. He glanced around, only to find Arnold curled up on his couch, his eyes shut peacefully with a slumbering girl in his arms. They were clutching each other, afraid the other would let go if they didn't hold with all they had.

At the sound of Phil's knocks, Helga made a soft humming noise, and, at her little hum, a smile lit up Arnold's face, and he snuggled into her all the more. Arnold's movements caused Helga's eyes to drift open slightly, but it was obvious that she was still completely out of it. The girl blinked a few times, hummed again, and burrowed into his chest, whispering under her breath, "_Oh, Arnold_."

A soft laugh escaped Arnold, and his arms noticeably tightened around the girl in his arms. "_Hmm . . . Helga_."

The old man chuckled warmly. He'd come up to make sure Arnold had made it home safely, but he should've known that he'd have a girl in his arms. It seemed as if every time Arnold avoided him after school, that little girl with the pink bow and the one eyebrow _always_ had something to do with it. He watched them for a moment, a nostalgic look in his eye, before he shook his head and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him quietly, careful not to wake the slumbering children.

* * *

Helga wasn't sure what woke her up, but what she did know, as soon as her eyes flickered open, was that the room she was not her own. And she was laying on something that was really, really warm. And the really, really warm thing was... breathing?...

Her eyes widened in surprise when she realized that she was sleeping on none other than _Arnold_, and she allowed herself only a second more of relishing in his slumbering warmth before she pushed herself into an upright position, exclaiming, "ARNOLD!" as loud as she dared.

Arnold's eyes flew open in surprise, and he shot upright, almost smacking his head into hers. His heart was pounding at the sudden, rather unwelcome, wake-up call, and he let out a groan, rubbing the side of his head. "Did you _have_ to shout like that, Helga?"

Helga looked at him incredulously. "Yes, Arnold, I actually _did_, because you seem to be missing the fact that I was just sleeping _on top_ of you!" she exclaimed, clapping him on the back of his head as she lifted herself fully off of his body, and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

The poor boy blushed scarlet; he had indeed been aware of the fact that there was a beautiful girl on top of him, but he just didn't want to draw too much attention to it. If he did, then she'd leave, and he didn't really want her to. He was much too comfortable being underneath her warmth, having her body encompassed in his arms, her head resting on his chest. It was a comfort unlike any other he'd been exposed to, and, despite the fact that ever since the Dino Spumoni song he'd been feeling wary around her, he couldn't deny the fact that she was soft, and warm, and smelled good. Like vanilla and some sweet-smelling flower. "Oh," he stuttered out, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that."

Helga waved him off, trying to force away a blush of her own. "Nah, I should be the one apologizing. I mean, I _was_ the one on top of you, after all."

Arnold nodded in understanding, but didn't know exactly how to respond to that, so he just sat there looking at her. He wasn't sure why, but the creases around her eyes and the slightly-disheveled pigtails were incredibly alluring. Not that that _meant_ anything, of course. After all, he'd admitted to himself a long time ago that he very much liked the way Helga looked, so the thought wasn't anything _new_. But, that particular heat of the moment, despite the fact that it was much shorter than their average make-out sessions, had changed things for him. The thought of her beauty suddenly meant more. The way he could get lost in her eyes suddenly meant _more_. And the fact that she seemed to think the same about him, (that is, enjoying his looks), always made him swell with pride. _But you don't like her like her_, he assured himself. _Remember? Yeah. Just friends. Weird friends, but friends_.

Helga was started to shift uncomfortably under Arnold's gaze, and she distracted herself by glancing at the clock. Her eyes widened as she realized that it was almost six o'clock, and her parents had no idea where she was. Not that she'd figured they noticed, but she did remember the time they'd called the police because she went AWOL on Thanksgiving, and she didn't want a repeat of that occasion. Their erratic care for her always managed to shock her. Helga looked back to Arnold, almost rolling her eyes at the fact that he was _still_ looking at her, and she snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Earth to Arnoldo. Pay attention. It's almost six. I should probably be getting home." She sighed. "Gotta go back at some point."

He sighed, but nodded in understanding. "Yeah, okay. Do you want me to walk with you, Helga?" Arnold asked. Helga's eyes still seemed sad, and, despite the fact that she was clearly trying to smile, her lips were having difficulty staying upright. That worried Arnold, because his pep talk seemed to work temporarily, but he figured that her problem was too large for him to take on himself. If he were to fix it, he'd have to seriously talk to her parents. _Hmm. That's an idea_. Arnold thought absently. He was dragged from his musings, however, when Helga chuckled quietly and said,

"Arnold. Look up."

The boy cocked an eyebrow, but followed her finger to his skylight. It was then that he realized there was a soft pattering noise, and saw that it was pouring rain outside. He blushed and met her amused eyes, a sheepish smile on his face. "Oh." He chuckled. "Okay, well, we'll figure something out, then." They both stood up and stretched, making solid eye contact for only a few moments, before glancing away.

Helga gathered her textbook, and followed Arnold down the stairs to the front door. He was just about to call out for his grandfather to request a ride to Helga's house, but he was baffled when he saw the pigtailed girl in question sigh, and she rubbed her temples briefly, before wrenching the door open and taking a step outside. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Helga? What're you doing? It's raining."

"Thanks for the tip-off, Hair Boy," Helga said sarcastically, turning around as the pellets of raining immediately soaked into her dress. "I didn't notice. But I have to get home _somehow_ -"

Arnold immediately remembered Helga's story from a couple heat of the moments before, about how she was forced to walk to preschool in the rain when she was three years old. He remembered how a dog stole her lunch box and how she was covered in mud all because nobody was paying any attention to her. And then he remembered how _he_ was the one who helped her; _he_ was the one who held the umbrella over her head and gave her his graham crackers when hers were stolen, and a bit of his heart swelled, but then his eyes came into focus at the scowling girl that had a hand on the knob and was about the shut the door behind her. Before she could, however, he caught it and held it firmly in place. "Helga, I'm not going to let you walk home in the rain."

"It's fine, Football Head," Helga said, turning around and looking at him. She tried to scowl, but she began shivering as the temperature of the rain was actually beginning to get to her, and it didn't help that she was instantly being weighed down by her freezing cold and soaking wet jumper. _Jeez, it's . . . really coming down out here, isn't it? _She let out a breath, putting a hand on each of her arms to try to retain some warmth. "If you could just lend me an umbrella or something, I can give it back to you tomorrow at school."

Arnold frowned, grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her back into the Boarding House, closing the door behind them. He folded his arms in front of his chest as he gave her a scolding look. "Helga, I'm _not_ going to let you walk home in the rain," he repeated sternly. "It's a fifteen minute walk from my house to yours! You'll get sick."

Helga just shook her head. "I appreciate your heartwarming concern, Football Head, but -"

Arnold just turned away from her, walking to the door to the basement, opening it, and leaned against the frame. "Grandpa, are you down there?"

There was a moment of silence before two kids heard footsteps coming closer. "I'll be up in a minute, Shortman! Pookie's on the ceiling again!"

Despite the absurdity of the old man's response, the look shared between the two ten-year-olds was anything but light. Helga's face bore a glare, a dark and stubborn glare that ordered Arnold to let her leave on her own terms. Arnold's face bore a firm look of determination, displaying a stubbornness that Helga never knew Arnold possessed. A silent argument ensued, insults and valid points being exchanged through their eyes, but when Helga opened her mouth to actually speak, Arnold talked over her attempt.

"Let me give you a ride home, Helga." His features softened from his previously hard expression. "I owe you that much, right?"

The pig-tailed girl's eyes widened slightly at that, before her eyebrow set in a straight line. "What are you talking about? You don't owe me anything -"

Arnold sighed. "I know, but I feel like . . ." He let out a sigh through his nose in frustration. His thoughts were all muddled and he couldn't seem to be able to get them in order. "I want to do this for you, Helga. Will you let me?"

His soft voice made Helga's look of irritation melt away and she averted her eyes shyly. "If it means that much to you, Football Head, I'll let you give me a ride home, then."

Arnold beamed at her, giving her an eager nod. "Great! Grandpa should be up here in a second, and then we'll leave!"

"Yeah, yeah," Helga mumbled, averting her eyes and bringing her hands up to her hair so that she could drain the rainwater from them before she could catch a cold. Arnold was about to say something, (as the second she had twisted her blonde hair, a puddle had formed at her feet, and it began to soak into the rug), but he just bit his lip and shook his head. She was already peeved enough as it was; he didn't want to anger her further to point something out that had an easy fix.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of Phil's occasional shouting, and Gertie's sudden shrieking laughter as she evaded his attempts to coax her down from the ceiling. (What she was doing on the ceiling, and how she got there in the first place, was a fact unknown to both fourth graders.) The noises were enough to pick at the children's lips, and they smiled softly every once in a while in amusement.

Finally, Phil stomped up the stairs with a disgruntled expression on his face. "Well," he said with a long, drawn-out sigh. The seriousness and intense dismay on the old man's face made Helga grin, and, when Arnold caught sight of her sudden happiness, he grinned, as well. "Looks like she'll just stay there until she gets bored and decides to remember to come to the dining room for dinner. Or she'll just lead a marching band of stray cats up and down the halls. Crazy old bird." He was silent for a few seconds, before shaking his head and looking up at his grandson with renewed livelihood. "So, what did you need, Shortman?"

"Well, it's raining outside, and I was just wondering if we could give Helga a ride home -"

"Say no more, I'll get the Packard!" Phil exclaimed, patting the young girl on the shoulder and hightailing it the garage.

Once Phil was out of sight, Arnold turned a smug look to Helga, his arms folding over his chest as his eyes fell half-lidded in amusement. "I told you he wouldn't mind."

Helga scowled at him, planting her hands firmly on her hips as she said, haughtily, "First of all, _Football Head_, you said no such thing, and second of all, your grandpa's _boss_, of course he wouldn't mind."

Arnold's heart warmed at the fact that she was praising his grandparents. (Especially because he got so many comments from so many people, [including Big Bob Pataki], about how crazy and loony Phil and Gertie were, and it made him so happy that Helga actually _liked_ them.)

"Yeah, I think they're, uh . . . I think they're _boss_, too," Arnold said in agreement, the terminology that Helga spouted out on a regular basis sounding foreign on his tongue. Apparently, Helga thought the same thing, because she rolled her eyes and snorted, but didn't say anything.

* * *

The car ride was comfortably silent. Phil was in the driver's seat, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as he hummed along to the jazz music emitted softly through the ancient speakers of the Packard. Arnold and Helga were in the back, sitting on opposite sides of the car and staring out of their respective windows. Arnold in particular had placed himself _firmly_ against his side of the car, determinedly avoiding any physical contact with her, but when she reached over and gripped his hand in hers, he felt himself melt and he laced their fingers together. He glanced over at her, his cheeks turning a light pink and his eyes shy; his lips twitched upward as he saw the grin on her face. They maintained eye contact for a few more seconds, before they both mutually turned away to look back out at the rain, their hands still clasped tightly together.

_I can't believe it,_ Helga thought in astonishment. _He actually kissed me, while a love song was playing in the background! He kissed me with the words, "I love you," playing off in the distance, and he was so sweet, and his touch was so gentle, and . . . _She sighed in frustration. _So, maybe he pushed me away immediately afterwards in disgust. But that doesn't matter, because pretty much right after that he hugged me again, and kissed my forehead, and told me that he _cares_ about me, and that he watches me to make sure I'm happy, and safe, and _. . . she sighed dreamily, propping her chin on her hand and resting it on the arm rest attached to the door. _I swear, one of these days, he's just gonna confess! If he . . . well, if he actually likes me likes me_. Helga sighed again, feeling much more pensive, and thoughts debated against each other about whether or not Arnold was actually developing feelings for her. There was, of course, the possibility, (considering Arnold was showing her sides of him their neither child was aware existed), but Arnold was consistently forthcoming with his feelings, and he had yet to disclose if he had any romantic feelings for her. 

Helga could be a dreamer if the occasion called for it, but she was not delusional. 

Arnold was having very different thoughts, as he usually did. _Arnold! Seriously, quit it! You don't like Helga G. Pataki! You don't like her, I won't let you! It's ridiculous! It'd never happen, not in a million years_!

Both children were aroused from their thoughts when Phil slowed to a stop in front of Helga's house. Helga blinked as her surroundings resonated, (she cursed her rotten luck that Arnold's house and her house were such a short car ride away), and she unbuckled her seat belt. She realized that she would have to let go of Arnold's hand, much to her dismay, so she gave it an extra tight squeeze, before flinging open her door. She sprinted onto the sidewalk and quickly up the few steps of her stoop, reaching her door in seconds.

Arnold had watched her leave, his eyes half-lidded, but as he stared at her receding back, he realized that she was empty-handed. He glanced at the seat between Helga and him, saw her math book, and seized it in one hand. He threw open his car door and quickly following after her to her front door before she could disappear inside. "_Helga, wait_!" he exclaimed, immediately catching her attention. She turned around, her clothes getting wetter than they already were, and she gripped her upper arms to try to retain any warm that she could. She raised one side of her eyebrow at him, curiously inquiring just what the heck he wanted, and why it was so urgent to halt her in the middle of the rain. When he stopped just in front of her on her stoop, his sweater thoroughly damp under the pressure of the rain, he held out her textbook. "You forgot this," he said over the patter of droplets on the sidewalk, and smiled at her when she gently took it from his hands.

"Thanks, Football Head," she said just barely loud enough for him to hear, taking a step towards her door, and backwards-putting a hand on the knob. She couldn't handle much more of mushy, would-be romantic moments with him, and she _did_ greatly miss her bed, and she was wet again, and she wanted a shower desperately. In the back of her mind, she recognized that she _did _have math homework to do, despite the fact that she had no desire to do it, and that she should probably get to it before every bit of motivation left her altogether. "So. Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow, Arnold."

Arnold folded his arms behind his back sheepishly and nodded. "Yeah, at school."

"At school," Helga agreed.

They looked away from each other, unsure of how to respond to the very emotional experience they'd had with each other. They spoke at the same time. "'Bye."

They didn't even react to their mutual speaking.

Arnold hesitated, glancing at her slightly-embarrassed face one more time, before turning away and hopping down all the steps of her stoop at once. He hurried back to the Packard, not even looking back as he slipped inside, buckled up, ignored the shivers of cold that racked his body, and told his grandfather that he was all ready to leave.

* * *

After dinner, Arnold trudged up his stairs, still feeling very confused about the events of that day. He'd never experienced so many emotions in so little time, and he had honestly no idea what he was supposed to do with himself now that he had the rest of the night to contemplate.

He grabbed his remote, clicked a button to turn on the lights, and then tossed it back onto his couch. He flopped down on his bed, reclining onto his back, his head collapsing against his pillow with a soft _foomph_. He stared up at the darkening sky, and found himself wishing night would never come. Night meant solitude, and solitude meant nothing to distracts from his mind wandering.

And wander it did.

It wandered to the still-present feeling of Helga's hands on his skin; it wandered to the harshness of her lips as they battled with their mouths; it wandered to the tears that escaped her beautiful blue eyes as he held her in his arms. His heart had ached at seeing such intense negative emotions from the strongest girl he knew, and just remembering it made the ache throb even more painfully. He hated seeing her cry; he hated knowing that there wasn't much he could do to make the pain go away. His hands just clenched at the thought that she was currently in a house right now where her own parents ignored her. The very thought just made him so very angry.

And it was the same anger, the same fury he had felt when he watched that Wilfred kid kiss Helga's hand. That was enough to make him blow a gasket, but the fact that she seemed so disturbed by it stirred something dangerous in him. He was so darn furious at that kid for trying something so audacious to a girl that hated his guts. It was all about protection; he wanted to actively deflect everything that could possibly harm this peculiar girl, even though he knew this was completely unrealistic and irrational. She could take care of herself. But the thing is, he wanted to protect her anyway. It was a fierce determination, and one he could not explain.

Everything about Helga seemed so complicated, but he found that confusion, that excitement of trying to figure her out intoxicating, and much more inviting than separating himself from her, which was what any logical bullied boy would do in response to his bully's physical affections.

A soft giggle met his mind's ear, and his eyes fluttered shut, hoping to latch onto that noise, and let it wash over him. It was so soft, so feminine, and so very unlike what he had previously known about the girl. Sure, Helga was a girl, and he'd always known that, but over the past few weeks he'd been noticing her more and more, and for good reason. And, despite the fact that he had only really wished for her giggle to stay with him, the words of his girl practically whispered in his ear.

"_Well, Football Face, I have to say, I agree with you there. Whatever the heck is going on isn't so bad. In fact, it's really, really _good_, actually."_

_"Keeping secrets. Offering to lie. Kissing in _closets_. Crimeny, Arnold, I'm a _bad _influence on you."_

_"Hey, I had to make it look real, Football Head. Otherwise they might think I _care _about you or something."_

_"Sure, he's _your _best friend, but he's _my _worst enemy, and I mean, _actually _my worst enemy. I hate to break it to you, but you're out of the running now, Football Head."_

_"You should know that I _hate_ you, Football Head."_

_"Lose the modesty, Head Boy. It's not nearly as attractive as you think it is."_

_"The whole reason I initiated this whole after-school heat of the moment was because what you did for me today reminded me of what you did for me in preschool. Back then, it really meant a lot to me, and now . . . well, it still means a lot to me. So . . . Thanks."_

_"Just shut up, Football Head. And put your tongue back in your mouth!"_

_"We're practically out in the open, Head Boy. Does that scare you?"_

_"I'm sure there is, bucko, but when have you ever known me to be _polite_?"_

_"I can only _imagine _how hot you must be, all cooped up in that heavy sweater of yours . . ."_

_"Well, don't start what you can't finish, Football Head._"

His heart fluttered and he felt a small smile come to his face. "She's amazing," he mumbled under his breath. She stirred something warm in his stomach every time they made eye contact; every time he felt her soft touch on his skin he felt like he was floating. It was a feeling like no other, and he was having a difficult time putting his finger on exactly what it was. He was sure he had never felt that way with any other girl before.

With Lila, his stomach fluttered, and that was it, really. It was just a passing feeling, and it only happened _some_ of the time. With Helga, he felt that excitement _constantly_, as he was always on his toes, waiting for what other crazy thing she would do next.

With Summer, he just felt warm, because a very pretty girl liked him, and, again, that was it. She didn't make his heart pound like Helga did, his heart never burned with passion whenever Summer held his hand. Even just mere eye contact with Helga made his chest expand, heat spreading through his veins like a poison, a poison he welcomed wholeheartedly.

And with Ruth, he just thought she was pretty. He felt nervous around her, his stomach churning with an anxiousness that made him scared to say the wrong thing, to make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. And Arnold felt nervous around Helga, too, but with Helga it was nerves in the sense that she was intimidating sometimes. Her passion was so raw, it scared him. And the way he felt about her _terrified_ him.

_The way I . . _. Arnold gulped, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. _The way I feel about her? But how _do_ I feel about her_?

And so began a thought process Arnold convinced himself he'd never consider, and the words came to him in his mind, straight from his heart, before he could stop himself.

He liked her, for one. He always had, even when she got on his last nerve. Even when he felt he _should_ hate her, he never did. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Because she surprised him. As soon as he was _sure_ he'd had enough, she'd do something nice, and he'd feel a warmth come over him, dull, but present, and it had gotten increasingly more obvious the more he spent time around her, the more nice things she did, the more playful she got.

And he thought she was pretty. He'd _always_ thought she was pretty. Unique, yes, but pretty. Different, most definitely, but pretty. Beautiful, but not like Lila, or Ruth, or Summer. Beautiful like _Helga_. And she looked _so good_ in pink . . .

He sighed warmly, smiling up at the darkened sky with a goofy grin on his face. But as soon as the expression came, he forced it away again, and squeezed his eyes shut, chastising himself for having fallen into that mindset he'd often been finding himself in as of late. "Don't," he whispered to himself harshly. "You don't like like her."

She was so witty and clever. She always had a quip on the tip of her tongue, and she could argue with him into the sunset, matching his intelligence, and proving his equal. Lila could never have such in depth conversations with him. A lot of the time, it seemed their conversations were only about her. He'd comment on how nice, and smart, and pretty he thought she was, and then they'd go their separate ways. And with Summer: did they really talk to each other much? Or did they just hold hands and make empty promises about a future that neither really believed was there? And Ruth? HA! They never spoke two sentences in total to each other. She thought he was a _bus boy_ on the only date he managed to scrounge up with her. At least the other two conversed with him, and knew he existed.

The only girl he could think of that even _remotely_ compared to the enigma that was Helga G. Pataki was Cecile, and he still wasn't entirely sure _she_ even existed. She was a fleeting memory, (a welcome memory, one he often visited, and wished to return to), but they only had one night together. A wonderful night, a magical night, even if he pretty much blew it by having two dates at the same time. Cecile was beautiful, sweet, and fiery. She was . . . a lot like Helga, actually.

Oh, _yes_, was Helga fiery. She was the most passionate person Arnold had ever met. Her anger came quick, her sweetness came hesitantly, but it _was_ there. It was soft and gentle, very much contradicting his preconceived image of her, but it was there. It wasn't _sugary_ sweet, it didn't overtake the rest of her spit-fire personality, but it was there. And even at her angriest, Arnold could see a hurt behind her eyes. She was sad, and she hid behind her rage. And when she _wasn't_ angry, when she was feeling placid and calm, (usually when she was just around him), there was still that insecurity, that pain that he knew the precise origin of. He really just wanted to protect her, to keep her safe in his arms until the pain passed and she was her normal passionate self again. As soon as she left that day, he missed her. He wanted to sweep her away from her family, hold her, kiss her, whisper in her ear that she _was_ loved--

_LOVED?! _Arnold screamed loudly in his head, sitting up abruptly with a panicked expression on his face. He felt himself pretty much hyperventilating at the involuntary thought. _No, no, no, no, no! Come on, Arnold, we've been through this before! You _don't_ like her like her!_

"_Arnold . . . they make me so angry . . . And . . . and sad. I hate feeling sad. Just . . . please, Arnold, just hold me._"

"Oh, no," Arnold whispered desperately. "I _can't_! I _can't_ like her like her! _No_! I've been telling myself I don't since the very beginning, and I'm _not_ changing my mind!" He sighed deeply, dropping his head into his hands. "This isn't happening, this _can't_ be happening--I can't believe . . . I can't believe I actually." He groaned dramatically, flopping back down on his bed and burying his face into his pillow. "I actually _like like_ Helga G. Pataki." He was quiet, pensive for a moment, grieving at the new revelation, before his head snapped up in alarm. "If she finds out, she'll kill me."

With this extremely panic-inducing thought in mind, Arnold leaped from his bed, crossed his room in only a few steps, and flopped on his couch on his stomach, his hand reaching for the phone. _I gotta call Gerald_, he thought quickly, (though he had no idea what on earth he was going to say, without giving away _everything_ that had happened between him and Helga over the past month), his mind feeling just a bit delirious, as his fingers sought out the phone number he had memorized, and waited patiently for someone to answer.

He was about to give up after seven rings, when a gruff, and yet feminine, voice said, "Hello?"

Arnold's heart skipped a beat, his face heating up as he thought in a panic, _Helga?!_ He started breathing heavily as that particular action of his settled in his conscious. _I called _Helga;_ why did I call Helga_ -

He supposed he was quiet for too long, because an even more impatient Helga spat out, "_Hello_?"

Grappling with something to say, (as his mind was too scrambled to realize he could just hang up), Arnold blurted out, his voice as high-pitched as it could go, "Hi, is Bob Pataki there?" He cringed, mentally berating himself for his pitiful display of quick thinking.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Arnold's heart rate increased with each passing second. After what Arnold considered an eternity, Helga's voice returned, slow and confused, "_Football Head?_"

Arnold's eyes flew wide open. "No," he said, his voice still in that unbearably-pitched voice, "This is Sabrina."

"_Sabrina_?" Helga asked, her voice flat and disbelieving. When Arnold just made a humming noise in response, she said, "_And pray tell, _Sabrina_, how do you know Big Bob? Do you have a complaint about a beeper? Do you work for him? Because both of those possibilities seem incredibly unlikely; you know, because you sound like a seven year old._"

"Oh? Heh heh, no, yeah, I'm sorry, I can't tell you how I know him, it's . . . well, I just . . ." Arnold racked his brain, trying desperately to come up with a reason before Helga suspected him. (But he had the uncomfortable theory that she already did.)

"_Fine, whatever, don't tell me,_" Helga dismissed. "To answer your question, no, he's not here right now. He had to work late, he won't be in until later. Would you like to leave a message?" Despite the fact that the last sentence should have been spoken diplomatically, there was sarcasm laced in her words, and it made Arnold wince. He was really hoping his words of comfort had stretched until at least tomorrow morning, but it seemed like her father's absence, (while she didn't really expect to interact with him much), really brought her mood down a notch, or a few.

"Oh, he's not? Oh that's a shame; you don't have to tell him I called, maybe I'll just find him . . . some other way. Great, thanks, 'bye!" Arnold hung up the phone quickly before he could make an even bigger fool of himself than he already was.

The fact that he had accidentally called Helga didn't surprise him as much as he figured it probably should; learning everything he could about Helga had become a habit of his as of late, and that apparently included her phone number. He also knew she was allergic to strawberries, but that she loved the flavor; he knew that she always ordered the same thing whenever she went to Slausen's, (though he had known that already, much to his surprise); he knew that she had a habit of chewing on her pencils when she was deep in thought during class; he knew she wandered the streets near her house, often when she was hurting, or feeling sad, or lonely.

In other words, he'd been watching her. And, no, that wasn't exactly a secret that he kept from her, but what she didn't know was that he was _paying attention_. To _everything_. How angry she seemed when she ate her lunch, how poorly her feet must feel after literally _stomping_ everywhere all day, how much her fist should be aching after punching Brainy so often. And she did punch Brainy, a _lot_. Constantly. And Arnold had been finding himself wondering what on earth he had done to deserve such violence from an already on-the-brink girl. He noticed how she was always her most spiteful when outwardly provoked, and her insults were more biting, more personal, more defensive. She was so intricate; she had so many secrets; Arnold didn't understand her, and he never had. She frustrated him to no end, and yet, every day, he still sat at the same lunch table and watched the same girl he had _sworn_ he didn't like in a romantic way.

He was steadily becoming obsessed with her, and only just a minute ago, he realized why.

How he felt for her far exceeded how he felt for any other girl he'd ever felt for. Only he didn't know what to call it; he didn't know what exactly it was, except that it was _strong_, and it was making his heart hurt. It was obviously a form of like-like, all he knew was that it was much, _much_ worse.


End file.
